


Spells of Power

by Dark and Stormy (betagyre)



Series: Spells of Healing and Power [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anders Being Anders, Anders Positive, Anti-Heroes, BAMF Anders (Dragon Age), BAMF Hawke, Dark, Difficult Decisions, Established Relationship, F/M, Loving Marriage, Mage Rights, Moral Ambiguity, Parent Anders (Dragon Age), Parent Hawke, Politics, Pragmatic Idealism, Qun (Dragon Age) Bashing, Red-Purple Hawke, Religious Conflict, Religious Fanaticism, Sexual Content, Viscountess Hawke, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 256,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betagyre/pseuds/Dark%20and%20Stormy
Summary: Caitlyn Hawke and Anders have big plans. With noble support and a useful, if corrupt, ally in Mother Petrice, Hawke intends to use the Qunari crisis to get Grand Cleric Elthina replaced with her own ally. She also has acertainbig ambition of her own and a list of reforms if she succeeds: limit Meredith Stannard's influence, reform Kirkwall’s Circle, make foreign alliances, and get the formal backing of Divine Justinia to safeguard her position as a mage leader and protect her and Anders’ mage son from being taken away. But Meredith also has allies and is not ceding power without a fight—a very dirty and bloody one if necessary.Meanwhile, Anders doesn’t think Caitlyn goes far enough with her reforms, and he—or perhaps Justice—also thinks she risks failure by playing by traditional political rules against a foe who thinks she is above rules. Meredith killed a previous Viscount, after all....(Canon-divergent.  Reading Part 1,Spells of Healing, is recommended but not strictly necessary.)





	1. A New Day Dawning?

**Author's Note:**

> To my old readers: Hello again and thanks for continuing to read this AU! To new ones: Welcome! Here are a few general notes about this story:
> 
> 1) There will be _absolutely no verbal abuse_ between Hawke and Anders in this story. They’ll have disagreements, but no more deliberate cruelty such as what Hawke did to Anders on two or three occasions in _Spells of Healing_. My intention is to write a generally happy, egalitarian partnership between two intelligent people who are passionate about their cause and work together on it, but have arguments sometimes about strategy and tactics. That’s the extent of “relationship drama” that they’ll have in this fic, nothing that poses an existential threat. They love and respect each other, and neither will coldly disregard or deliberately tear the other down anymore. Hard promise on this.
> 
> 2) The graphical violence warning is primarily for one scene of extremely explicit torture that occurs about halfway through the story. The victim(s) of it is/are not sympathetic… but the person doing it is otherwise meant to be, so be prepared.
> 
> 3) I recommend reading _Spells of Healing_ eventually if you haven’t yet, because there are a number of events that are already AU. I hope to make most of the AU differences that were established in _Healing_ and carry over from it easily understandable in the text of this fic, but I _don’t_ plan to use the story notes to describe an AU event that occurred in the previous fic.
> 
> 4) This AU is obviously quite canon-divergent, and this particular fic will diverge from game canon even more than the first one did. There won’t be too many mentions of canon game quests here after a certain point, because the characters’ circumstances will be quite different from what they are in the game at that same point in the timeline.
> 
> 5) **Mild spoiler below:** I don’t want to spoil the details too much, but I will say that this is _not_ going to be a fix-it AU in which the mage-Templar conflict never erupts. It’ll just erupt _differently_ (and that is deliberately vague!). I choose to spoil this because I honestly think that a fix-it “happy” AU would not appeal to many (any?) readers of this particular series and I wanted to reassure you that I’m not going to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the tradition of _Spells of Healing_ , most of the chapter titles of this fic will probably be metal or alternative rock lyrics or close references to such. This one is from “Troubled Times” by Green Day.

_Solace, Dragon 9:33, Kirkwall._

_Maker’s flaming breath, there are few spells that can be safely taught to a five-year-old,_ Caitlyn Hawke thought in exasperation as she examined the mild repulsion glyph that her five-and-a-half-year-old son, Mal, nickname for “Malcolm Anders Hawke,” had cast at the door of his bedroom to keep his parents out. She felt dread at the thought of him entering his teenage years, if he was already trying to rebel at age five.  _I suppose, given who his parents are, the desire to rebel is in his blood,_ she thought,  _and yet... I don’t want to be on the receiving end of it!_ This glyph was weak, typical of childhood magic, but the fact that he had shown magic at age five at all could mean that he was powerful—and magic strengthened with age.

Anders was instructing him in healing magic, a subject about which Caitlyn knew little. It was also Mal’s primary interest, which she supposed was all to the better.  _That_ was safe to teach, at least. The creation school in general was safe, and Caitlyn had learned some other spells from it over the past couple of years—including glyphs. They had both agreed that they would  _not_ teach their son the elements, spirit damage, or entropy until he was old enough to better control the strength of his spells  _and_ they had thoroughly warded the Hawke mansion against damage. She was already eyeing the basement as a practice room for him when that time came. Her father had forbidden her and Bethany from using certain kinds of spells inside the Lothering house, she recalled. It had been frustrating at the time, and she had defied this rule more than once, but now she saw the point of it. If she and Anders taught him well, someday Mal would have enough control over his magic that they could teach him the riskier schools. To the extent that there were any books about how to teach children who manifested magic very early—they had found one printed in Tevinter—that was the advice from that source as well: “Teach the safer spells first until the child learns self-control.”

Besides, the absolute last thing they needed was for a mage child to cause destruction because his mage parents didn’t teach him how to control his magic. That would be more than just a disaster for the family; that would be a disaster for the cause that she and Anders were beginning to pursue.  _Never mind that the Fereldan Circle was almost destroyed from within,_ she thought darkly.  _Disasters in the Circles somehow never count against that system, but disasters outside the Circles always count against reform._

_I wish Father and Bethany were still here,_ Caitlyn thought with a pang as she headed downstairs. They would have been able to help, especially Father. He had been their teacher when she and her sister were children, and Caitlyn was inexpressibly grateful that she had had a mage parent now that she had a child of her own who was one. Except for the six months in Dragon 9:27 when he lived with the Hawke family and learned from Malcolm too, Anders had been taught in the Circle. While Mal had learned quite a lot about healing for his age from watching his father at work, Caitlyn had found that  _she_ was actually better at one-on-one instruction than Anders. She was better able to detach from her magic itself and explain to Mal what the process entailed, whereas Anders was deeply involved in every spell he cast. She attributed it to Anders’ familiar spirit enhancing almost everything he did and to herself having been tutored by her father for years. This repulsion glyph that she had just observed was one that she herself had learned from one of Anders’ books only a couple of years ago, but she had been the parent to teach it to Mal.

She reached the foot of the stairs and passed into the living area, where her mother was seated. Leandra had her oil paints and a canvas, and she was painting a family portrait of the family as... it currently was. As Caitlyn took her seat, she glanced up at the walls, where her mother’s other painting hung: a portrait of the _entire_ Hawke family as it was in 9:27, Malcolm and Bethany included, with Anders smiling sheepishly to the side, his arm around Caitlyn’s waist, and a small bump on her belly. Leandra had painted this from her charcoal drawings from years past. She had given up art when they had moved to Kirkwall and she had lost her youngest child, but she had taken it back up recently.

When Leandra had completed that first painting about a month ago, Caitlyn had been almost unable to even look at it. Nothing about it was inaccurate—Mal was not present in the picture except as that bump, and he had not, in fact, been born yet—but it was still painful to look upon, because it was a reminder of what could have been. However, she had become used to it now, and it was nice to be able to look at the wall and remember so readily what her father and sister had looked like. Her memories of their faces had been getting fuzzy, especially those of her father, she had realized—and that made her much sadder than looking at this painting did. Forgetting what her father and sister had looked like was a stark, bleak kind of sadness; the painting was a warmer, more mixed kind. With the painting to jog her memories, she could feel sad about them but still remember them clearly.

The second painting, the one Leandra was currently painting, included Carver in his Grey Warden breastplate, Grandfather Amell’s sword strapped to his back. Caitlyn and Anders stood behind young Mal, the expressions on both their faces a mix of pride, regret, and happiness—which was quite accurate, and spoke well to Leandra’s artistic talent that she could capture all of that in oils.

The mabari Baldwin and the orange tabby cat Ser Pounce-a-Lot were curled up by the cold hearth, some space between them, but it was still apparent that they got along well. Baldwin was Caitlyn’s dog and clearly regarded her as the alpha of the entire “pack,” including the other humans and the cat, but Pounce likely considered _himself_ the head and Anders the second-in-command as his caretaker. It was amusing to Caitlyn, but if it worked, she was in favor of the animals thinking whatever they needed to.

“Mal has learned how to cast a glyph of warding,” Caitlyn said wryly to her mother.

“Oh, Maker,” Leandra said with a chuckle.

“He warded the threshold of his bedroom. Obviously I would have no difficulty removing it, or stepping past it, but honestly—a five-year-old!”

The older woman smiled indulgently. “You tried to use magic against me as soon as you could, you know.”

Caitlyn blushed, remembering an event from her childhood shortly after she learned she was a mage in which she had threatened to set her mother’s clothes on fire unless Leandra gave her a cookie. Her father had been utterly furious, angrier than she had yet seen him by that age, and he had given her a firm lecture about mages who abused their magic by menacing and bullying non-magical people just because they could. As a nine-year-old girl who had just wanted cookies, she had been thoroughly shamed at having upset her beloved father so much that he would lecture her about magisters and maleficarum. The experience had been formative, though, and she had never forgotten his lesson.

“I was a brat,” she conceded. “Mal just wants his privacy. I expect he’s reading or playing by himself.” She smiled briefly, but it faded. “I hope Anders and Varric come back soon. I would’ve gone, but he wanted to go, and you know one of us should be with Mal until he has learned more about magic. Anders hasn’t been out much lately except to go to the clinic, which hardly counts.”

“Is Varric coming back with him?” Leandra inquired in surprise.

“I don’t know. It’s possible, though. The problem involves Varric’s brother, with whom he does not get along. He might want to come here to have company after that.”

“It’s so sad when family members can’t get along,” Leandra lamented. “Gamlen is difficult, of course; I do understand it, but it’s still sad. This brother is the one who headed the Deep Roads expedition, isn’t he? What was the problem?”

“Some sort of domestic issue at the mansion, apparently,” Caitlyn said. “They think Bartrand is hiding there for some reason.”

“I hope everything is all right,” Leandra said.

As if in answer to that, the lock in the front door clicked, and the door itself was flung open. Anders and Varric stalked inside, an expression of disgust and fury on the dwarf’s face and a very troubled one on Anders’. “I’ll get you a drink,” the mage said to Varric in distracted tones.

The animals sat upright as Varric set his mechanical crossbow down and stormed into the living room, sitting down with a glower on his face. “Hello, Hawke,” he grunted to Caitlyn. He nodded to Leandra. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s nothing,” the older lady said. “Caitlyn’s and Anders’ friends are always welcome here.”

The dwarf merely grunted as Anders returned with a carafe of brandy and stacked glasses. He seemed uncommunicative right now, and Caitlyn decided to let him settle down. Anything involving his brother tended to rile him, after all.

“Is Mal upstairs?” Anders asked his wife.

She nodded. “He has warded his doorway, too. Oh you,” she scolded as a slight smirk formed on Anders’ face. “Of course you approve of that!”

“Is the ward still there?” Anders asked, still smirking.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Well, then, clearly you don’t mind it too much either.”

“I could take it down or walk through it if I truly needed to,” she said. “It’s harmless, and it would only hurt his feelings if I took his magical work down for no good reason.”

“You two have no idea how lucky you are,” said Varric. “All of you, actually, Junior included in absentia. To have a _normal_ family....” He trailed off darkly, shaking his head and heaving a sigh, as he downed his brandy.

Once everyone who wanted a drink had one, Varric and Anders began to narrate the events of that evening.

“It was that idol,” Varric muttered. “I _knew_ that thing was bad news. It should’ve been destroyed and never allowed to leave the Deep Roads!”

“The idol made of red lyrium?” Caitlyn said. “He still had it? I hope you destroyed it, then!”

Anders shook his head. “He didn’t have it anymore. He said he had sold it to a woman.” He frowned in thought, trying to remember the dwarf’s exact words. “‘Glittering like the sun, but with a heart as cold as ice,’” he quoted. “That sounds exactly like a Templar in my opinion—shining armor, icy heart. We should get in touch with one of the ones you know, Caitlyn... Thrask is probably better than Varnell... and see if he can root out who it is.”

“Shut it, Blondie,” Varric muttered, clutching his drink. “Tonight isn’t the time for your blasted Templar obsession.” He glowered ahead. “My Maker-damned bloody _idiot_ of a brother has just destroyed his entire household _and_ his own mind because of that thing.”

“What do you mean, destroyed his entire household?” Caitlyn said, a chill of fear and foreboding prickling down her spine.

“I mean exactly what I said. He killed everyone in the mansion except one or two servants. He claims that idol made him do it. Bastard!”

Leandra and Caitlyn were horrified. “This is a thing you found in the Deep Roads?” Leandra said in alarm. “Were there more objects like it?”

Caitlyn shook her head at once. “It was unique. It was made of lyrium, but red. There _was_ an entire empty thaig—a dwarven settlement, basically, Mother—that was filled with veins of this red lyrium, but no other artifacts anywhere. And we didn’t linger. I got a really bad impression from it as a mage, as did Anders. Something is wrong with it. It’s... corrupted somehow.”

“Lyrium isn’t supposed to affect the minds of dwarves at all, unless they are Grey Wardens and have a connection to the Fade through the Taint,” Anders said. “That Bartrand—and Varric, too, when we were on the expedition—experienced _any_ effects from it, let alone _this_ kind, is very alarming.” He gave Varric a defiant look. “Which is why we _need_ to find out who has it now.”

“What became of Bartrand?” Caitlyn asked, fearing that she knew the answer already.

“He’s still alive,” Varric muttered, “for now. Anders was able to heal him temporarily, bring him back to himself a little bit. I don’t know what the long-term solution will be, though. I could send him to a Chantry hospice, where the Templars with brain rot go.”

“He won’t be cured there,” Anders said. “I still think you should send him to Tevinter instead. They might be able to actually do something about it.”

“They’re just as likely, if not more so, to experiment on my brother with their bloody sparkly paws,” Varric retorted, “considering him an ‘interesting subject for study.’”

“Tevinter culture respects dwarves.”

“They won’t respect a disgraced surface dwarf who is off his rocker!” Varric exclaimed. “Especially one who was exposed to a magical substance that they’ve probably never heard of!”

Anders put up his hands in surrender. “All right! He’s your brother. I’m just warning you not to expect him to get better at a Templar hospice. It’s a place where they go to die.”

Varric scowled. “After what Bartrand did, maybe that’s for the best. I know I couldn’t look myself in the eye each morning if I knew that I had betrayed my household like that, whether I did it on purpose or not. Maybe I was wrong tonight and should’ve put a bolt through him after all, for mercy.”

Caitlyn had no idea what to say to that. “I understand why you didn’t, though. He is your brother,” she offered somewhat helplessly, “and you know he wasn’t himself when he did this. I’ve never had to mercifully kill anyone who was close to me... thank the Maker.” She glanced unhappily at Anders, who _had_ given her own father a mercy killing when Malcolm developed the Blight sickness in 9:27. Anders gazed back at her, sadness in his face too. Caitlyn took a deep breath and continued. “It would be more difficult for you than for anyone else, is my point. If you decide he should have a quick, painless end, you... can ask me. I know entropy spells that drain life quickly. It’ll be over in a minute, and he won’t suffer. I promise, Varric.”

Leandra looked askance at her daughter but did not scold her. Anders could see the exact moment that she remembered watching Aveline kill her husband mercifully, and remembered that he had done the same for Malcolm, because nothing more could be done to help them.

Varric finally sighed heavily. “I’ll think about it, Hawke,” he said, sincere tones in his voice. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll consider it.”

* * *

After Varric left and Leandra had gone to bed, Caitlyn turned to Anders with concern in her face. “I agree that we need to find out who has that idol now, if it did this to a person without a connection to the Fade. If you’re right that it is a Templar, that’s very, very bad.”

He gazed ahead toward the sleeping cat and dog. “I would like to study this red lyrium to find out what is wrong with it—but don’t worry,” he reassured her at once as alarm spread over her face, “I know it’s not safe. It’s not safe for _anyone_ to meddle with, clearly.”

Caitlyn considered. “I wonder, though... you said something tonight, about dwarves who are Grey Wardens having a connection to the Fade....”

“When I was at Vigil’s Keep, there were two dwarves in the Wardens,” he explained. “They had Warden nightmares. It was their first experience with dreams. And... I suppose it’s additional evidence that the Black City is the source of the Taint,” he muttered grudgingly.

“Well, I was thinking... you reacted differently to it than any of us did. You said you almost had _two_ responses to it: being drawn to it and being repulsed, and that the repulsion was closely associated with Justice, but that the draw was almost like a dark song.”

Anders nodded.

“So I wonder... do you think that this lyrium could be affected by the darkspawn corruption somehow, and that is why you had a unique reaction, as the only Grey Warden in the party at the time? And why a dwarf who was not a Warden was affected by it too, since the Taint is a conduit to the Fade for them?”

He considered that. “It’s an interesting idea. But Grey Warden mages take lyrium potions all the time, and in fact, every Warden who takes the Joining arguably does too, since lyrium goes into the potion. Wardens don’t go insane like Bartrand Tethras did.”

“But that would be refined lyrium. This idol, and those veins in the thaig, were not.”

“That’s true. I don’t know. This is why I wish it were safe to study—but honestly, it should probably be wiped out, all of it. Nobody can handle it safely, not even a dwarf.”

She nodded. “I agree with that. You know,” she confessed, “if we could have lived a normal life, a quiet life, I think I really would’ve liked being a magical instructor and researcher. I’ve discovered that lately, teaching the basics to Mal and reading books in our library. But... there are a few things that are too dangerous, that shouldn’t even exist, and this could be one of them.”

Anders pulled her close and stroked her vermilion-red hair. It was halfway down her back again, as it had been six years ago. “I wish we could’ve lived a normal life too,” he said, “and I _have_ noticed how much you like studying magic. I’m so glad that you have found something you like!” he added with a smile. “Something that isn’t violence and killing, as you said.”

“I’ve even avoided performing any more blood magic,” she said in a whisper. “I... was really slipping a while back. I was doing spells that were strictly blood magic, that can’t be performed without it, not just using my blood for ordinary ones.” Her expression darkened. “My father warned me and Bethany about that. He was right.”

“Good,” he said, hugging her. “I’m glad that you and Merrill were able to help me with the flu patients without using any of my lyrium, but I was getting worried too, after you started using those _other_ spells.”

“Now that I know how to do those spells, and have done them before without lasting harm to myself, I think there will always be a temptation,” she admitted.

“But you know you can resist it,” he said encouragingly.

“Yes,” she said. She got to her feet, pulling him up with her, and gazed into his face. “Let’s read to Mal and then get ready for bed, love.”

* * *

Caitlyn reflected in bed late that night, after they had spent time with their son, put him to bed, taken baths, and made love twice. She and Anders had been back together for over a year and a half, closer to two years now, and they had been married for over one. It had been a happy year for her—and as she thought about it, watching him sleep peacefully for a change, she realized why that was so.

_I really did stop being cruel to him,_ she thought.  _After the fight we had during the flu outbreak, when I ordered him out of the house because I was angry at my mother and took it out on him, I realized that I could actually lose him if I didn’t treat him right and respect him. He always respected me, my interests, my aspirations. I didn’t respect his passion, though. Before the epidemic, I didn’t respect what it truly meant to be a Healer. I didn’t respect his independence, either. I tried to control him—to dictate what he did and on what schedule, and to make him feel guilty when I couldn’t do that. Maker, I even tried to control his relationship with his own son, to discourage Mal from pursuing his own interests too because they were closer to Anders’ magical specializations than to mine. It was because I was—and am—afraid I would lose them, but that doesn’t justify it. I was wrong to treat him that way, and it wasn’t even making me happy to do it. I fell in love with him because of who he is, not who I imagined I wanted to force him to be. I love him because he is an independent person with his own perspective and interests. We share a passion for mage rights—that’s a necessity for both of us, after all that we suffered—but I love him for who he is, himself. Now that I have let him be himself without verbally abusing him for it, we’re both so much happier and more affectionate with each other._

_Mother was right when she gave me advice before the wedding. She said that love wasn’t enough by itself and that we couldn’t take each other for granted. I wasn’t listening because I was annoyed with her about something else, but she was right. The rings on our fingers and records in the Chantry might bind us by law, but that is also not enough to bind us in our hearts. We have to choose it ourselves by our words and deeds toward each other._

She gazed at Anders again. His chest was rising and falling regularly, and his sleep was calm, with no sign of the spirit of Justice. She was glad that his dreams tonight did not require the spirit to assume control, but she no longer minded the spirit in its good form. The Vengeance aspect, which she had seen once— _possibly_ twice if the night that Karl had died was another such instance—was a different, more frightening matter. But _Justice_ was good, she acknowledged, and according to Anders himself, Justice had saved his life both in the Fade and out of it. If not for Justice, she wouldn’t have him now. _I would have lost him,_ she thought. _I never would have seen him again. Mal never would have known his father at all. He believed that he owed his life to Justice and that was part of why he let the spirit in, but I owe Justice too._ She sighed. _I wish I could have known the spirit as he did, before it merged with him at all. Even now, it is not a distinct being anymore. That may have been the only way to save him without taking another life as a blood sacrifice to send him back into the Fade, as Anders tells me, but it’s still sad to me. Justice survives as part of Anders... but he used to be a separate individual. He sacrificed that for Anders—and for me, for Mal, for our cause. That’s the ultimate sacrifice, in a way._

She leaned over Anders and planted a soft, almost intangible kiss on his forehead, smiling tenderly as she did. _I love you,_ she thought, _and I will never give you cause to doubt that ever again._

* * *

Anders took Mal to the clinic the following day to continue his “apprenticeship” and instruction-by-observation in healing magic. As Caitlyn watched them leave, she realized that she should check on Varric. She thought momentarily about going to the Hanged Man, where his room was, but then realized that he was much more likely to be at the Tethras mansion in Hightown, albeit for a grim reason. The mansion would be filled with bodies.

Sure enough, the dwarf was in the house, looking as grim as Caitlyn had ever seen. He had a team there to help with ripping out bloodstained carpet and disposing of the bodies—preparing them to return to the Stone, according to dwarven customs—but he was overseeing it, a dark scowl on his face.

“Hawke,” he said in acknowledgment as she entered. “Glad you came.”

She nodded and sat down beside him. “I felt that I needed to. I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night, Varric.”

He gave her an understanding look. “It’s all right,” he said. “Blondie was able to bring Bartrand back from the brink, and no offense, but I doubt you could have.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t have,” she agreed.

“And one of you needed to be with your child, since he is a mage.” He managed a brief smile. “It’s good to see somebody with a happy family. It gives me something to believe in. Even though I don’t see it in my own kin, I know it exists.” He sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t trust myself to be a father. My upbringing was... not happy.”

She gazed ahead. “Mine was, but a lot of bad things happened following Dragon 9:27, and if I weren’t one already, I probably would think that this disqualified me from being a mother. I’ve managed to make it work, though. At least, I think I have, with Anders by my side especially.”

He considered that. “I know. Some of us can rise to the occasion even if we would otherwise think that we couldn’t. You’re one of them, Hawke.” He gave her a genuine, friendly smile, and she felt relieved that the moment of tension had dissipated. “Regarding Bartrand.” He scowled out at the evidence of the carnage that still remained in the house. “I don’t want to send him to Tevinter, and I’ve thought about it. Perhaps Blondie has a point about Templar hospices. The Chantry can’t cure toxic exposure to the regular kind of lyrium, so what could they do for exposure to something that they have probably never heard of? He’ll drool down his own shirt there, pissing and crapping himself at the last, until his brain finally gives out— _or_ he’ll attack and they’ll have to put him down violently.” He sighed heavily. “He’s already fallen back into what he was last night. Anders’ healing lasted even shorter of a time than I feared. I’ve got sleep syrup in him and two people guarding him upstairs....”

“My offer stands,” Caitlyn said at once, steeling herself even as she spoke the words. She had killed many people, but they were always trying to kill her or someone she cared about. This would be very different. “I will do it if you think that is best, and I swear on my life that I will use something that causes no pain or suffering for him. Anders doesn’t know entropy spells, but I do. They don’t do any damage to the body—no burns, no injuries. They just... drain life.”

There was a moment of silence for several seconds before Varric spoke again. “I’m so sorry, Hawke,” he said, his voice suddenly cracking. “I’m sorry to ask it of you.” He gazed at her, looking surprisingly vulnerable for the tough, streetwise dwarf that she knew.

She gave him a brief hug. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m sorry it’s necessary... but I do understand. I wish... there was something that could be done for him. I wish that this hadn’t happened. But since it did, and there’s no rational hope for him, I... well, this is something I can do.”  _I get it now, Anders,_ she thought sadly as she and Varric headed up the stairs for him to say his final goodbye to his brother.  _I understand how you felt about having to give a merciful death to people you couldn’t save. I understand. It’s yet another thing for which I was unkind to you. I understand now, and I’m sorry._

Bartrand was a mess. He barely recognized his own brother. “Do you want to wait for me to summon Anders to heal him again?” Caitlyn whispered to her friend. “Do you need to say any last words to him?”

Varric considered for a moment before shaking his head. “That’d just make it harder. What is there to say now? That  _thing_ made him murder almost his entire household.” He turned aside. “Just... take care of it.”

She gave him another brief hug, then readied her magic. The spell she cast, known in the books as Death Cloud, drained the dwarf of his life, first putting him to sleep and then slowly shutting down his bodily systems. It grew difficult to sustain as he transformed from a drooling, raving madman to a peacefully sleeping man, but she knew that she had to finish this, hard though it might be. Finally Bartrand Tethras breathed his last.

Varric closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, regret and despair filling his gaze as he looked at Caitlyn. “Thank you,” he said. His gaze flitted back to his brother. “And Maker have mercy on the soul of whoever bought that  _damned_ idol—or perhaps I should say, the  _victims_ of whoever did.”

“We’ll find the buyer,” she said, more to reassure him than herself. If there was no record of the sale, it would be a monumental task. “We’ll find the buyer and destroy the thing, and then we’ll go back to that thaig where the rest of that red lyrium is and blast it to smithereens.” It seemed ridiculous to her even as she said it. Darkspawn would have overrun the Deep Roads by now. They were already starting to do so in late 9:31 when she and her friends ventured there.

He gazed back sadly at her, clearly not believing her words either.

* * *

“You and Varric should go to the Hanged Man together,” Caitlyn urged Anders that evening. “He’s feeling terrible about the loss of his brother, and you were there—you saw all the bodies....”

“You had to put him to death, though,” Anders pointed out.

She leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes. “And it was horrible, and I understand how it felt to you now,” she said softly, “especially since my father and Karl meant a lot to you, whereas Bartrand Tethras was just the brother of my friend. But I’m all right now. I didn’t see the violence itself. You did. You and Varric should go out together, a ‘boys’ night out,’ as it were. You haven’t left the house at night in months.”

He smiled gently at her. “I have a family here.”

She hugged him. “You do,” she agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you cannot have any time for friends! You’ve been working very hard. You should do this.”

“Well... all right.”

* * *

The following evening, the two friends were ensconced in their cups at the Hanged Man, complaining in increasingly colorful words about the myriad of problems in Kirkwall. Bartrand Tethras, surprisingly, barely came up at all— _but perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, given how bad Varric feels,_ thought Anders.

Varric slammed his empty stein on the table. “Blast and damn it all! Between the gangs, the Qunari, and the bloody Templars, Hawke is the only thing keeping this accursed city together!”

Anders drunkenly raised his drink in a toast to her that Varric could not join. “She is!” he exclaimed as beer sloshed over the side.

A barmaid quickly shuffled by and refilled Varric’s stein. She scurried away, apparently used to male customers groping her if she lingered, even though neither of these would have done so. Varric grunted, tossed her a coin that she deftly caught, and raised his newly filled drink to clink against Anders’. “I misspoke,” he said. “You did good work a while back. I know the ladies helped, but it’s mostly down to you that Darktown didn’t lose half of its population to a disease. Cheers, mage.”

Anders joined the toast, but looked to disagree. “Actually,” he said, “you give me too much credit. I was out of lyrium and couldn’t have handled everything by myself anyway. Caitlyn—”

“Keep it down.”

Anders was well in his cups by now, but he suddenly realized that his voice _was_ rather too loud in a public place for him to be talking about his wife obtaining privately sourced lyrium for him and performing spells. Few in Kirkwall knew that she was a mage, and they needed to keep it that way until she could obtain protection from the Circle as he had. “Right,” he agreed. “But she did a lot too. So did Merrill, but it was all Cait’s idea.”

“Hawke? I heard you saying ‘Hawke.’ I bet I know who you mean.”

Varric and Anders glanced up sharply, trying to identify the speaker. It was not hard. A young man in casual leathers smirked across the bar. He was not visibly armed, but it was always safe to assume that anyone in the Hanged Man was carrying weapons anyway. Anders tensed, and Varric subtly shifted his crossbow on his back.

“The Hawke _I_ know about is a Fereldan dog woman who washed up with the rest of that flea-infested flotsam three years ago,” the young man continued, obviously thoroughly drunk if he thought this a good idea. His obnoxious smirk broadened. “Her father was an infamous apostate and maleficar, and you know what else?”

“Oh, Maker,” muttered Varric. He preternaturally sensed what was coming. Anders seemed already lost to anger. The young mage was breathing heavily, his stare fixed upon the provoking young man, and although no signs of Justice were yet present, Varric had no doubt that this was going to turn into a brawl very soon if the idiot said what Varric was sure he was going to say.

“She took after her whore mother spreading her legs for an apostate herself in Dog Land!” the man finished with glee.

The other patrons drew back in excitement, several of them oohing and chuckling as Anders stormed across the bar, grabbing his staff off his back. But when he reached the young man, it was his fist that connected with the fellow’s face, sending him reeling backward. The tavern erupted in cheers.

The man scrambled to his feet, blood trickling from his nose, and instantly lunged for Anders—but the mage ducked and grabbed his collar, fury written in every line of his face.

“Oh, you’re him, aren’t you?” the man said. The smirk formed again despite his bloodied nose. “Of course, I should’ve recognized that Vint coat.” He lowered his voice. “We know what you and Hawke have done, and payback’s going to be a bitch. The Warden Dog Lady can’t protect you here.”

Varric emerged by Anders’ side and pointed his crossbow at the man. “What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Who cares?” Anders snarled. He threw the man violently to the floor. “She’s offended half the criminals in this city. You know what happens to all of them when they try to get ‘payback,’ don’t you, you fool?” he said to the man. “You’re no different.”

The man spat blood on the floor and glared defiantly. “I’m no alley rat,” he sneered in a low, menacing voice. “Hawke also has enemies at the Gallows, and we’re the ones that are going to take both of you down for what you did to Karras.”

An incandescent, flaming rage suffused Anders at those words. Justice tried to take him over, but Anders was just in control enough to know that that was a terrible idea in such a public place. A guttural yell burst from his mouth as he sent a blast of deathly cold frost at the Templar, utterly unconcerned that the man was already injured.

The Templar was blasted with the spell but quickly shrugged it off. “And _that_ is why Meredith is right that your _kind_ shouldn’t leave your cells!” he spat, raising his hand to perform a Holy Smite. A whiff of lyrium filled the air.

Anders shouted in blind, incoherent outrage again. He swung his staff around to use it as a blunt-force weapon, knocking the man over—it was much easier to fight a Templar when they were out of their heavy armor, he noted—and interrupting the Smite before the man could finish.

Without waiting a single second, Anders began to send spell after spell at the man, frost, conjured rocks, lightning, and blasts of raw gut-punching force, not giving him a chance to return a blow or even stand upright. He quickly, unconsciously, reached an equilibrium with his spirit that allowed Justice to enhance the power of his spells without actually taking him over. This enabled him to cast spells at full power, because Justice was apparently renewing his mana as he needed it. He felt like a manifestation of the Fade itself as he battered the fallen Templar repeatedly. When the spatters of blood on the floor became a small pool, he—or Justice, or Vengeance—felt nothing but a vindictive surge of pleasure. _Vengeance, then,_ he thought in satisfaction, not caring about that either.

“Stop it!”

The words were not coming from the man on the floor, but rather, from someone who was grabbing Anders’ arm with a harsh grip. He snarled in disregard and gave the Templar a kick between the legs, eliciting another groan from the fallen man.

“Maker’s fucking breath, Anders!”

At last, he began to come back to himself, brought out of his fog of rage by the use of his name. He breathed heavily and turned to one side, where Varric was standing by, a look of complete fury on his face. The barkeeper was rapidly approaching from the other side, and he looked equally angry.

“Get out,” the barkeeper ordered him.

Anders wrenched free of Varric’s grasp and glared. “Are you siding with the Templars?”

“I don’t take any sides,” the barman seethed. He glared at Anders, then shook his head at the battered and bloodied man on the floor. “But you were about to kill him.”

“He insulted and threatened my wife.”

“That is something for you to settle _outside_ my pub if you can’t control yourself better than this!” he exclaimed. “A bit of brawling, throwing punches, is one thing, but I won’t tolerate _this_ from anybody, even an exalted Grey Warden of Hightown. You were about to kill that man, and your big showy spells were menacing the rest of my customers! Out, before I have my men _throw_ you out.”

Anders was still heated and angry, but he allowed Varric to drag him out of the Hanged Man by his arm. Several customers gave him signs of approval as he passed by, but Varric’s face was still a study in exasperation.

When they were finally well away from the pub and heading back to Hightown, Varric turned to Anders with a scowl. “Well done, Blondie,” he growled. “Congratulations. You’re the first person I have ever known who was so violent as to actually get tossed out of the Hanged Man for fighting.”

Anders was still rather tipsy, so he smirked with pride at these words.

“You’re proud of that,” the dwarf said, shaking his head in amazement. “Unbelievable.”

“He deserved that and worse. You heard what he said about her.”

“I did, and I _also_ heard his threat. I would have preferred to know more about it, so that she can prepare for it, you know.”

That was something that had not occurred to Anders, and as they reached the doorstep of the Hawke estate, the broad grin on his face faded away. Had he endangered Caitlyn by acting rashly? He hoped not....

He unlocked the door. They went inside the house and headed to the living room, where Caitlyn was seated by herself, frowning in concern over a letter. Her mother and Mal were already in bed. Anders sat down on the divan beside her, but Varric took a single chair across from them.

“Anders! Varric!” she exclaimed, shocked at the look of anger on Varric’s face. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Your hotheaded husband here got himself kicked out of the Hanged Man for _brawling,”_ Varric said. “I didn’t think that could actually happen, but he proved me wrong!”

She turned to her side and raised her eyebrows at Anders. “Not a scratch or a bruise on you, though,” she observed. “Did you heal yourself?”

“I didn’t have to,” he replied proudly, a smirk forming on his face again in spite of himself. “I used magic.”

“He means that he blasted the fellow with one spell after another, keeping the man down, and took no blows himself.”

“It was a Templar,” Anders explained. “He insulted you—and your parents—and called you horrible names, then threatened you. He said he was a friend of Karras, that one who wanted to murder all the apostates. He deserved what I gave him.” He reached for her, trying to throw an arm possessively around her. “Come here, love.”

She was torn. As embarrassing as the thought was, it was actually very appealing to think of him violently defending her so intensely that it got him tossed from a rowdy pub where brawling was commonplace. However, Varric was _not_ happy, and she had a feeling that it was not simply because his planned evening with a friend had been cut short.

Her moment of hesitation gave Anders the advantage. His arm fell across her waist, and he pulled her close, gazing into her green eyes with his warm brown ones. In spite of herself, her lips parted, and a quick intake of breath filled her lungs.

“Maker’s breath, this _arouses_ you. You’re just as bad as he is,” Varric said, shaking his head.

Embarrassed, Caitlyn extricated herself from Anders’ embrace. “You’re still drunk, Anders,” she told him. “You need to sober up.” She reached for a pitcher of cold water that rested on the table next to the divan and poured him a cup. “Here. Have this, and....” She readied her magic, then sent the single healing spell she knew at him.

As the spell struck him and he downed the cold water, Anders felt himself slowly becoming sober again. Varric shook his head again and continued. “If he had been better able to control his outrage, we might have been able to find out the specifics of the Templar threat.”

“You said it was about revenge for killing Karras, though?” Caitlyn said.

“Apparently so,” Varric said.

She picked up the letter that she had been examining. “I think this has to do with that, then,” she said. “It didn’t make much sense to me otherwise... my ‘considerable talents’ and an ‘opportunity’ in Hightown.... Shady deals never took place on the streets of Hightown. I _know_ that. I used to be a smuggler. They happened in abandoned warehouses and the like. But after hearing about this drunken fool of a Templar, I expect this letter is about the same thing.” She glowered. “They—another pack of lawless zealots in the Gallows—mean to trap and ambush me.” She passed the letter to Anders, and he carried it to Varric after he had read it.

“Most likely so,” Varric agreed, putting the letter back on the desk. “We’ll be prepared.”

“I should contact Ser Thrask,” she said. “I hope he’s all right.”

* * *

_The following night, just after midnight._

Caitlyn, Anders, Varric, and Ser Thrask stepped away from the pile of fallen bodies, which did _not_ include the smirking fool from the Hanged Man—but Anders supposed that that one was probably still too badly injured to have come. The Templars who truly hated mages would not even avail themselves of Healers. That was unfortunate; it meant that he was still in the Gallows and could cause more trouble someday. _But we already know there are still enemies there,_ he thought, _starting with the Knight-Commander herself._

“I need to get back to Lowtown as quickly as possible,” Thrask explained as he broke off from the rest of the group. “I’m supposed to be on patrol there tonight.”

“Thank you for coming, though,” Caitlyn said. “I’m sure it was no easier to kill fellow Templars tonight than it was when Karras took up arms against you.”

He sighed. “It actually was, though. These people have broken their oaths to serve the Maker, as far as I’m concerned. There is rot in the Order that has to be cleaned out.”

She nodded. “Do you think this group tonight had the support of the Knight-Commander?”

“I don’t know if she knew about it,” he admitted.

“If she did, I’m sure she would approve,” muttered Anders.

“She is certainly setting a bad example from the top down, at a bare minimum,” said Thrask. “Better leadership would make a difference.”

“And policy changes,” said Anders.

“We’re... working on that, all of it. But there is one other thing I need to ask of you, before you go back to Lowtown,” Caitlyn said. “There was this... item. When we went to the Deep Roads, Varric’s late brother carried it out. A dwarven idol, a small statuette, made of lyrium—but the lyrium was red.”

“Red? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Neither had any of us. The reason I mention this is that... well... it drove Varric’s brother mad. Murderously so.”

“He killed almost everyone in his household in paranoia and rage,” Varric said. “Anders here briefly brought him back to himself, and he said that he had sold the idol.”

“I think he might have sold it to a female Templar,” Anders said.

“Did he give a detailed description?”

“Nothing that could be used to identify someone specifically, unfortunately,” said Anders, “but... the idol itself is unmistakable.”

Caitlyn had already pulled a sheet of parchment from her robes and was quickly sketching the idol as she remembered it. “Here,” she said. “This is basically what it looked like.”

Thrask took the parchment, and his eyes widened. “That’s... ugly. Not your drawing,” he clarified. “That looks like a demon of the Fade.”

“It might also have been a dwarven wraith of the Stone,” she said. “We found it in a... cave... that was full of veins of this same red lyrium, and we all had poor reactions to it. That is the problem, the source of the evil, not whatever the idol represents. It drove a _dwarf_ mad,” she emphasized. “A dwarf, with no Fade connection. It would be disastrous if a Templar bought it.”

“I suppose it would at that. Well, I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Thrask said. “I can’t promise anything—even if you are right that a Templar bought it, she probably wouldn’t display this openly, you know. But I’ll be on the lookout anyway.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Back at the Hawke estate, Caitlyn and Anders entered the living room to find, to their surprise, that Mal was awake again. They had put him to bed before going out, but he had awakened, and his grandmother had been unable to get him back to sleep until his parents returned home.

“I thought you two weren’t going to leave him here without another mage present,” Leandra admonished them as the little boy leaped to his feet.

“We usually won’t,” Caitlyn said. “He wasn’t supposed to wake up and then _stay awake,_ though,” she added, raising her eyebrows at her son.

“I need another story,” he said, gazing up at them.

She relented. “Oh, all right. One story, and then you need to try to go back to sleep.”

Mal was actually more tired than he had let on; he just wanted to see his parents when they returned. He nodded off quickly after they had finished reading to him. Caitlyn and Anders went to their own bedroom and tumbled onto the sumptuous bed together, falling into the now wonderfully familiar dance of intimacy and love.

“Good night, darling,” he whispered next to her ear as he rolled to her side and pulled her close.

She nestled against him, closing her eyes. It had been a happy, peaceful year, the likes of which she had not known since Dragon 9:27—but events seemed to be ramping up again, and she had a bad feeling that the time of peace was soon to be over.  _At least we have each other this time,_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even when game quest events do occur, as in this chapter, I’m not going to stick rigidly to the odd game timeline in which nothing happens for three years on two separate occasions. The timeline is almost past the first such block, of course, but if I need something to occur in Dragon 9:35-9:36, it’ll happen then rather than inexplicably being delayed till 9:37.


	2. The Peaceful Transfer of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story! I’m going to try to make weekly updates, give or take, but there’s another fic under my other pseud that I want to wrap up (so if you don’t want updates in your email for that, you should subscribe to this fic or the series, not me as the author), so I can’t absolutely promise that update frequency while that is ongoing.
> 
> Slow-ish chapter, still setting the stage, but I’m trying to line up all the pieces.
> 
> This chapter doesn’t have a song. It does, however, have some NSFW content at the very end!

_Dragon 9:34, Val Royeaux, Orlais._

The ornamental trees that lined certain streets were beginning to sprout yellow and light green leaflets, as well as delicate buds for the flowering species. The golden spires and marble statues gleamed triumphantly in the sunlight, a glamorous display of centralized wealth and power. Val Royeaux was the capital of an empire—an empire in decline, it was true, and an empire facing suggestions of internal tumult. Empress Celene was still unwed, and a war of succession between the other contenders from the Valmont family tree seemed to be looming at some date in the future.

But for the present moment, the other seat of power in Orlais—the Sunburst Throne—was empty. Beatrix III, whose rule as Divine was uninspired at best and at worst was overtly political in favor of the secular Orlesian empire and the doctrinal status quo, was dead. The faithful—and those in the Orlesian aristocracy who claimed faith, whether truthfully or not—wore black and dark colors of mourning, despite the fact that it was spring. The streets of Val Royeaux lacked their usual cornucopia of color and flamboyance. The Conclave of high priests and Grand Clerics had not yet chosen a successor, which the city knew from the fact that no one had emerged from the secret location in the Grand Cathedral where they were required to convene until they did pass a vote. Black smoke had poured from the chimney of this annex three days in a row, signifying that no contender had a majority.

Aristocrats and common folk of the city chattered among themselves about the process and what it could mean that it was taking so long. There were two dark clouds hanging over the Conclave. The empire _was_ in decline this age, whether the nobles liked that or not, and it was an open question now as to whether the Chantry should fight for the secular interests of royals or accept this period of decline and distance itself from the Orlesian throne after the controversially close ties that Beatrix had formed. There were even a few radical voices calling for the Canticle of Drakon to be declared Dissonant, as a political propaganda tract to promote the Orlesian empire rather than an inspired text from the Maker. There were not nearly enough for a majority, and most of these clerics were not Orlesian... but they were making their voices heard in this crucial moment, putting out a shocking new idea that they would not likely have voiced before this Divine’s death.

The second dark cloud was the growing concern about conflict and even, in the worst case, potential schism in the Chantry over the Circles. Increasingly loud voices among the clergy were calling for change in how mages in the southern nations lived. A woman known only as “Nightingale” to most seemed especially vocal about the latter, and the whispered rumor was that this woman was not a priest, but rather, had worked with the Hero of the Fifth Blight, who herself had defeated that ancient evil with the aid of mages and Dalish elves—groups that were not exactly in high favor in Divine Beatrix’s court. On the other hand, extreme hardliners were also becoming more vocal; they thought that the proper answer to these calls for reform was a harsh crackdown and further empowerment of the Templar Order not just against mages, but non-mages who took their side. The most extreme had even, rumor had it, put forth a very unorthodox candidate for Divine, a female Templar, a Knight-Commander known for taking hard lines. No one knew for sure if that rumor was true; no foreign Knight-Commanders were in Val Royeaux right now, so this person had been nominated in absentia if the story was accurate.

Nightingale also had a candidate for Divine, apparently, though no one knew exactly who it was either. But everyone did agree that the outcome of this Conclave would likely influence the direction of the Chantry through much of this age. Decisions that Beatrix’s successor made on either issue might prove difficult to reverse, especially if they were change decisions rather than decisions to bolster the status quo a bit longer. It was momentous, and with the magnitude of this particular Conclave, no one seemed overly surprised that it was moving so slowly.

Yet there was a mood change today. The city seemed on edge, as if people knew that the big question would finally be answered. That, of course, would likely only open many new questions....

A group had gathered in the marketplace nearest the Cathedral to watch for signs. Suddenly excited voices began to fill the air, and fingers pointed at the chimney... from which white smoke now poured.

Within an hour, the city criers were proclaiming the surprising news: Mother Dorothea, a reform-minded priest of Orlais and apparently the choice of Nightingale, had been chosen to assume the Sunburst Throne and had taken the name Divine Justinia V. The news spread rapidly throughout Val Royeaux. From there the messengers took the news to the rest of the lands of the White Chantry, most of which had not yet heard of the precipitating event: The old Divine was dead, and a new one had been chosen.

Within two weeks, word had reached Kirkwall.

* * *

Caitlyn leaned back in her chair and stared out the window into the night sky, her face filled with lines of concern. _Beatrix was unhelpful,_ she thought, staring at the moon through the trees. _She was not on our side. This new Divine is Leliana’s mentor in the Chantry, and that has to be a very good thing for us._

_And yet... Beatrix died suddenly. She was old, but she still had a sudden death, not a gradual decline. What if—_ She broke off this trail of thought, frightened to carry it to its conclusion again.

“What’s the matter, love? I would have thought that the news we heard today would make you happy. Do you know something I don’t?”

She glanced up to see that Anders had entered the sitting room. He crossed the room and sat down beside her.

Well, there was no choice now but to voice the fear that she had just refused to think. “It is good news... I think,” she said. “Unless Justinia changes and becomes more traditional now, this is good news for us.”

“So that’s what you’re worried about? That she will become timid?”

“Not exactly,” she admitted. “As long as Leliana has her ear, I am not too worried about that—though we still need to work on Kirkwall, which has an immediate effect on us as opposed to the goings-on in Orlais. Despite the outcome, there are seats of extreme traditionalism... and I think Kirkwall might be one at present. I heard that a group of radical reactionaries actually nominated _Meredith_ to be Divine,” she muttered darkly.

Anders drew back, his face twisting in contempt. “They’re really getting bold, aren’t they? A Templar as Divine? Because age after age of Templar-approving priests isn’t good enough?” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Was Kirkwall’s Grand Cleric at that Conclave, then? Did she do it?”

“I don’t know who did it,” Caitlyn said. “I assume Elthina was there, but I don’t know how she voted. That’s secret. I assume, based on how she behaved during the flu epidemic two years ago, that she would not have voted for Justinia.” She sighed, taking a deep breath. “What I was worried about was something else. Beatrix died suddenly. She wasn’t thought to be ill. She was just... gone after a terrible spasm.”

Anders thought he understood. “You think she might have been assassinated?”

“Honestly, Anders....” She lowered her voice, though no one should be awake in the house right now except the two of them. “I’m worried that if she was assassinated, that _Petrice_ might’ve arranged for it. She was an Orlesian noble, and you know she’s capable of it.” She sighed again. “And if she did... well, I’m afraid I have made a mistake. If it wasn’t a natural death and she was involved, I am not sure that I really want to know. I don’t see any other option for us here in Kirkwall. If there are other priests who are moderate about mages, I don’t know who they are, and they are not ambitious like she is. Even if she did that, I don’t see that I have a choice but to continue to support her—so I’d rather not know.”

Anders considered that, then chose his words very carefully. “I understand—but just put the idea out of your mind if you don’t want to think about it. Odds are, the old woman died naturally anyway. She was frail, I thought. The Chantry might have been covering up an illness with this ‘frail’ claim for a long time. And, well, as a Healer... I know that there are conditions that can carry people off very quickly, especially older people.” He noticed that she did not seem reassured by his words. “But even if your worst fear is right,” he added, “I don’t know that I’d say it’s a _mistake._ As you said yourself, what other options are there among Kirkwall priests who both don’t mind mages and are willing and able to challenge Elthina?”

“Oh... I don’t mean that that was the mistake,” she clarified. “The mistake might be... well, I am not sure I want to know, but it seems that I’m going to find out. I, er.... I... have written to Leliana to visit whenever she can to talk about it privately, in case she might know something about the circumstances of Beatrix’s death that outsiders wouldn’t know,” she admitted to him. “I hope that’s all right with you. She is with Lady Cousland now. There would be no....” She trailed off uneasily.

Anders gazed at her, thoughts warring within him. _She is committed to me,_ he told himself. _We are married and we trust each other. Leliana is also in an exclusive relationship. There is no threat, except perhaps the threat that things will get awkward. That... could certainly happen. But it has been a while, over three and a half years for them now, and they’ve both moved on._

_It was four years for us, and we hadn’t,_ another voice in his head—not the voice of Justice, but a dissenting thought of his own—reminded him maddeningly.

_That is because neither of us ended it ourselves. That’s different. Hopefully Leliana will be able to discuss the Conclave without anything becoming difficult. She was a bard, after all; she is trained to conceal emotions. And her emotions for Caitlyn should long ago have subsided into friendship, since she is with Cousland and she knows that Cait is with me._

The other, malicious little trickster of a voice spoke up again.  _And how long has she known that? How does Cait know how to reach her? How long have they been corresponding?_

“How did you know where she is?” Anders burst out—and he realized, as soon as the words left his mouth, that this was a horrible response to her unease and uncertainty.

She winced and stared at him with wide eyes. “I just assumed she would be at the Grand Cathedral, beside Justinia,” she said. “I haven’t... I haven’t been sending her letters behind your back, Anders. I _haven’t_ known exactly where she was until now, and I am only assuming this now!”

He instantly sat down beside her and embraced her. “I’m sorry,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t mean for  _that_ to be the first thing I said, and of course, you’re right that it’s natural to assume she’s at the Cathedral. I don’t know why that burst out.”

She gave him a wry but somewhat relieved smile. “You’re not feeling a bit jealous, are you?”

He returned the exact look that she was giving him. “Maybe? I hope not too much, though.”

“There’s no reason to discuss our past relationship, and I wouldn’t do that to you,” she said. “And I’m not even sure she can come, or how soon, given that she’s bound to be involved in the proceedings to some degree.”

“It will probably still be awkward,” he said, “but... _she_ ended it. And she did it because she could tell you still cared about me and even tried to send a message to you about me. That isn’t the action of someone still carrying a torch, even if she weren’t with Cousland now.”

“I am glad I didn’t receive that message, given that it would have been word of your presumed death,” she said quietly. “I still heard the rumors about the Fereldan Circle here, of course... but nothing specific about you. I could still hold onto hope that you had survived, even though I didn’t have hope any longer that I would see you again.”

He hesitated, thinking back to those dark times. His time in Amaranthine was one of valor and heroism, he knew... but it was also an exceedingly dark, sad, and depressing time for him, one in which he gradually lost all hope, and he had tried not to think too much about it since then. He also preferred not to think about the tragedy that had befallen the Circle, since absolutely nothing good had come of it whatever. Even Karl had not, ultimately, survived, which had been the one thing he had held onto in Amaranthine as a vaguely good outcome. And he definitely had not thought about the circumstances of his escape....

“Cait, there’s something I need to tell you about that. It’s not a huge secret on the scale of Justice—at least, I don’t think it is—and I haven’t kept it from you deliberately. I truly just haven’t thought about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is a reason they presumed I was dead. I never meant for _you_ to receive that message—and I’m glad that you didn’t—but I was presumed dead because that was my intention when I made my last escape. I was not part of the group of blood mages that took over—”

“Oh, Maker, Anders, I never thought _that!”_ she exclaimed. “You don’t need to reassure me of that.”

“Well, wait to hear the rest of it,” he said darkly. “I had no idea that this group existed or that anything was being planned—my escape’s timing a few days before they did it was purely coincidental—but, erm, I did something dubious of my own to fake my death and get out.” He took a deep breath. “I learned from some old notes that there was a... watchguard....” He broke off. “Oh, to the Void with this obfuscation. I stole Templar armor, put it on, and set a rage demon loose to make people think I’d become an abomination. It didn’t kill anyone,” he reassured her at once. “I just ran down the hall, armored like a Templar, shouting about it.”

Caitlyn suppressed a laugh of which she was rather ashamed, but if this had not actually killed anyone.... Still, there was one thing about it that concerned her. “What do you mean, you set it loose?” she asked. “It was confined, like the ones in the Grey Warden prison that my father bound years ago?”

“Something like that, just without a blood offering required. This one was summoned by interacting with statues—tapping them—in a certain order. It came up from the basement, and I had covered my tracks by telling other mages that I was going down there.” In spite of himself, he smirked. “Nobody knows the truth except you, though. And Justice.” He suppressed an embarrassed laugh. “I had already become a Spirit Healer through Justice, although of course we had not... done the rest... and he strongly disapproved of the entire scheme.”

“I’m sure he did!” she said, trying not to smile.

“Given what happened so soon after—I heard that they were actually forcing demons to possess people, somehow—they apparently thought I was the first casualty. Until the Templars went to Denerim to clean out the phylactery storage and found that mine was still active.”

“And you said that Warden Cousland does not know the truth?”

“She doesn’t. The Templar who tracked me to Vigil’s Keep while she was there accused me of it in front of her, but she didn’t believe it. She did believe the demon was part of the blood mages’ activities, but she thinks I just took advantage of the chaos to escape. And I never corrected her.”

Caitlyn nodded. “No one else will know.”

* * *

That night, as she cuddled beside him in bed, she thought about the discussion. He might have been a tiny bit jealous, but on the whole, he had been very reasonable and understanding. Memories of her own aggressive jealousy of Karl and deliberate cruelty to Anders when she had first met him again in Kirkwall flashed back to her mind, and the contrast filled her with shame. The more time that had passed since that night in late 9:31, the more regretful she was about that.

_It’s different now,_ she thought, turning on her side so she wouldn’t have to look at him as he slept peacefully.  _I had no certainty of anything then. Our lives and our circumstances are much more settled now, even wondering and feeling anxious of what the future may hold. I was so jealous in part because I was adrift and had so little I could depend on._

_But it wasn’t really about jealousy,_ she reminded herself.  _That might have been a trigger, but my real motive was to make him hurt so that he would lash out at me and thereby absolve me of my own guilt for harboring furious, vicious thoughts about him for so long. It was worse than jealousy. Still, jealousy was a factor, and my conduct was despicable._

She closed her eyes and grimaced.  _I’ve known that it was, but it seems especially salient tonight. I haven’t had the chance to see just what a stark contrast there was between our reactions until now. There was that brief time when I fancied Varric and Merrill and he was a bit possessive, but those fancies went nowhere. This... did go somewhere. Leliana is the only person of whom he could be just as jealous as I was of his other partners... actually, more so. I was with her for several months. He and Karl were together for one. Maker’s breath. He exhibited only a twinge of jealousy tonight. Maybe it is partly because he’s confident of us, but still... how can I ever deserve him?_

Unable to stare at the wall any longer, she turned back to face him. His sleep was still peaceful, and Justice seemed to be leaving him be tonight. That meant that his dreams were good and he did not need the spirit to take over his mind and soul to get through them. Caitlyn smiled at that.  _He deserves good dreams,_ she thought, leaning over to stroke his hair gently and kiss the top of his head, before settling down as close to him as she could without waking him.

* * *

_A month and a half later._

A hooded and cloaked figure slunk through the streets of Hightown. Her movements were not those of an amateurish spy trying to stay hidden while making sudden darts from point to point. Instead she walked as one familiar with the neighborhood, merely on a nightly stroll or an errand. The only unusual detail was that her face was hidden in the shadows of her hood, but that had unfortunately become a necessity recently. She passed by the Hawke mansion and continued her path to a small door tucked neatly away on a dead end. The house it belonged to was small and insignificant in the well-to-do neighborhood.

The woman raised her hand to the door and knocked a specific sequence. In a second, the door opened.

“It’s you,” Caitlyn whispered. “Come in.” She was holding a candle; the foyer was unlit, and no lights shined through the windows.

Leliana swept inside as Caitlyn closed the door and locked it tightly. She paused in the hallway, removing her hood, as Caitlyn stepped in front of her with the candle.

“A couple of years ago I got rid of a gang that was squatting in this place,” she said. “It’s owned by the Viscount now after that—and I’m sorry about the lack of light, but we don’t want to draw the neighbors’ attention....”

Leliana merely smiled. Caitlyn was extremely nervous, and it was showing. She let the mage continue without interruption; it seemed to be what Caitlyn needed to do.

“Mother, of course, would want to know what was going on, and I’m still not entirely comfortable about.... Well, I think there may be people watching who comes and goes from my house on the street. I’ve... made enemies. I suppose I could have hosted you in Anders’ clinic in Darktown, but that seemed inhospitable....”

“I would not have been offended,” Leliana finally said. “But I understand your choice of this house.” She would have liked to see Leandra Hawke again, and especially little Mal—now in the heart of childhood, rather than a chubby-legged toddler with precocious speech—but she understood why Caitlyn did not want her mother to know about this visit, and she supposed that it was time to let the little boy go and accept the fact that she herself would never have the primary role of a parent. It would be terribly dangerous for a child to have the Left Hand of the Divine as a mother. Elissa had taken in a pair of orphaned elf children from the Denerim alienage, one of whom was the daughter of the lady-in-waiting of a Cousland vassal who had died in the massacre at Highever, and Leliana would have to content herself with seeing them on the occasions when she and Elissa were together. Leliana did not regret her choices of 9:30, but those choices meant that her life and Caitlyn’s life had diverged greatly, and there was little to be gained from dredging up the past. She wasn’t sure if Mal would even remember her now— _and why should he?_ she thought. _He has both of his parents now. He should remember them._

They reached a small inner room with no windows. In a battered chair sat Anders, another candle resting on a table beside him. Two more chairs had been pulled up. Caitlyn sat down on the chair on the other side of the table and placed her candle on it as well. Leliana took her seat and gazed at Anders in contemplation.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” she said quietly. “I heard so much about you from Lady Cousland.”

“And Caitlyn,” he said, his words surprisingly pointed and cool. Beside him, Caitlyn gave him a startled look.

“Yes,” Leliana said, seeing no point in denying it. “From her as well. But we are not here to reminisce, I understand?” She turned to Caitlyn. “You were concerned about the death of the late Divine, I think?”

“I was concerned about that, yes,” Caitlyn said, “but there were other things about the Conclave... rumors... and this far from Val Royeaux, one never knows what to believe. You were there. You were in the middle of it all.”

“I cannot promise that I have answers to every question you might ask, but I will do the best that I can.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath. “Of course. Well... as you say, I do have... an anxiety about Beatrix. She died very suddenly. Do you... were you in a position to know....”

“If hers was a natural death? Yes, I was,” Leliana assured her. “Justinia—then Mother Dorothea, of course—and I were close at hand. It was a natural death, Caitlyn. Set your mind at ease on that matter.”

“You’re certain of this?”

“I am a bard with extensive knowledge of poison,” Leliana said with a sad smile. “There are poisons that mimic a stroke, yes—which is what carried off Beatrix—but there are subtle differences between the poison and the real event. Poison leaves traces and has its own effects, always. Yes, I see that you know of this too,” she added, noticing how Anders’ eyes were fixed on hers in interest at what she was saying.

He nodded, though his posture was still strangely stiff. “It’s something I have to know as a Healer, especially one serving the poor.” Caitlyn gave him another confused look at the chill in his tone and affect.

“Why did you fear otherwise?” Leliana asked them sincerely.

Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that if she wanted to be unreasonable, she _could_ continue to harbor her doubt and fear, but she also knew that she had no valid basis for questioning Leliana’s expertise and observations. How to answer her, though? If she succeeded in her goals, Petrice would become the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. She did not want to prejudice Leliana against her on the basis of a false fear. Whatever the priest might be capable of, she had not done _this._

“There is someone who knows who you are and knows about my association with you—just that we knew each other and were friends, don’t worry—and I feared that this person might have had the means and inclination to have Beatrix assassinated as part of the Game.” She made sure to put distaste into her words. The Game of Orlais _was_ distasteful to her... and yet, she feared that she might have to play some form of it soon enough.

“Oh, for extortion, you mean?” Leliana said.

Caitlyn latched onto that excuse. “Perhaps. Who knows what such people have as their endgame—unless the Game itself really is the point? I just wanted to be utterly sure that it didn’t happen that way.”

“Then rest easily,” Leliana said kindly, “because it did not. Justinia’s succession was entirely normal and she did not ascend in a pool of blood.”

Caitlyn managed a short laugh. “Always a relief to know!”

Leliana leaned forward. “And what were the rumors about the Conclave that you heard?”

She bit her lip. Not all of the questions she was going to ask were actual rumors that she had heard; some of them were actually intelligence-gathering attempts on her own part, but she was deeply curious about what had transpired and what it would mean. “Well, the rumor in Kirkwall is that our Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard was proposed by  _somebody_ for Divine. If true, it wasn’t taken seriously by the Conclave, I understand, but people are saying that someone still did it.”

Leliana nodded. “That is true. It was shocking to almost everyone at the Conclave, even the very traditional priests. There is no canon law, after all, saying that the Divine  _must_ be a Grand Cleric—or a Revered Mother—or even a priest at all, and someday perhaps there will be one who is none of those. But it was still shocking to hear a Templar proposed, let alone one with her... reputation.”

Anders had been silent for most of the conversation, almost glowering at Leliana in the dimly lit room, but this was irresistible to him. “I’m sure that whatever you have heard about her from priests is only a shadow of the truth,” he said.

Leliana raised her eyebrows faintly at him. “Most likely,” she agreed.

“Do you know who made that nomination?” Caitlyn asked. _Who in the highest ranks of the Chantry is already against us?_ she thought darkly.

“I do not know,” she admitted. “That was secret, too secret even for a former bard.”

“I wonder....” Caitlyn hesitated. “Kirkwall’s Grand Cleric Elthina seems inclined to back and enable Meredith. We saw evidence of this in the middle of 9:32 when the flu epidemic was spreading out of control for a time. Meredith refused to let any Circle Healers help Anders with that, and Elthina backed her.”

“She was at the Conclave,” Leliana said. “I did not speak to her. Justinia does not consider her an ally, though she has not considered her an enemy before either.”

“Perhaps she should,” Anders interjected.

“Refusing Healers to help quell an outbreak of infectious disease is impossible for me to justify,” Leliana said. “You know that I do not agree with the policies of the Circles, but unfortunately... we are not in a majority yet in the Chantry. But the Chant of Light itself, in the words of Andraste, says that ‘magic is meant to serve man.’ Locking Healers in a gloomy Tevinter prison when a deadly pestilence is spreading is not ‘serving man.’ I will definitely inform Justinia of this.”

Caitlyn took another deep breath. “Leliana... on that subject... to the best of your knowledge, does Justinia intend to push for change?”

Despite the semi-permanent glower that had developed on Anders’ face for this meeting, he sat at attention for this.

Leliana sighed. “She means to, Caitlyn. She wants to. I beg your pardon, but I have told her what became of you and Anders—what the policies did to your family—and she was rightly outraged by it.”

“It’s all right,” Caitlyn said. “If we’re fortunate, a lot more people are going to know our story.”

Leliana paused and raised her eyebrows in interest at that, but she did not interrupt her own answer. “And you know that, as Mother Dorothea, she allowed my old friend Sketch to remain free. She also knows the role that the apostate Morrigan played in helping Eliss—Lady Cousland to quell the Blight. She was one of her companions, an apostate from the Chasind. I... did not much like her... but she did save our lives more than once with her magic. And Justinia does not view the disaster of the Fereldan Circle as cause to crack down _harder,_ as Meredith has apparently done.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming up,” Caitlyn said darkly.

Leliana sighed again. “She has a controversial past, Caitlyn. She has served Andraste faithfully for years, but she is... colorful. Not exactly a bastion of perfect purity. She played the Game herself. And there are those who are already trying to cripple her with that. Of course... there are always self-righteous poseurs, even in the Chantry....”

Anders muttered something that sounded very much to Caitlyn like _“Especially_ in the Chantry,” but his voice was so low that she did not think Leliana heard it, to her relief.

“And since my past is even more ‘dubious’ in such a view, I have tried to keep my distance from her. I am Nightingale, the Left Hand of the Divine, and I try to keep this identity separate from Leliana, former bard, companion of Elissa Cousland.”

Caitlyn leaned forward, rubbing her forehead miserably. “I understand,” she croaked. “I understand that _perfectly._ People say things about me too, because I first arrived in Kirkwall from Ferelden with a child but not the child’s father. I think most people have accepted the truth now that Anders and I are together... but I also suspect there are some who think, or want to think, that he isn’t really Mal’s father, and would use that lie against me if I... tried to advance myself farther.”

Leliana gave her a glance of sympathy, but it did not last long. “That is the second time you have made an allusion of that sort,” she said. “Do you intend... pardon me....”

“I have ambitions,” Caitlyn managed. “I’m not comfortable sharing them openly, because of what would have to happen for them to be fulfilled... but rest assured of this. I also don’t want to ascend to any post in a pool of blood. Certainly not by spilling it myself, or watching it be spilled when I could stop it.” _Maker help me,_ she thought. _My chief ally in Kirkwall wants to incite mobs against a force of armed foreign soldiers whose society “converts” every dissident it can by force and kills defectors, and through his fool of a son, the Viscount is close to this._

But Leliana did not know the dark thoughts that were passing through Caitlyn’s head. She just nodded knowingly at her words. “I understand. No more need be said about that, then. To return to your question about Justinia, she does wish to enact reforms, but she also is afraid to move too great a distance too soon, given the talk about her past. It would be better if a push for change emerged at another level.”

“Understood,” Caitlyn said, smiling again. “That’s the plan.”

There was a silence that lasted for nearly a minute before the awkwardness became too much for any of them to bear. Anders finally rose, his movements stiff and jerky, his expression as tense as Caitlyn had ever seen in a calm moment. “Well, I suppose that’s it,” he said bluntly. “Unless you want to talk to her _alone.”_

_Holy Maker,_ Caitlyn thought as the meaning of Anders’ behavior all night finally hit her.  _It’s a wonder he hasn’t turned green!_

“I would have nothing to say to her that you shouldn’t hear,” Leliana protested at once, rising to her feet as well.

He grimaced. “This is awkward... and I should return home anyway. I still practice healing first thing in the morning every day. I need to get some rest.” Without waiting for either of the women to respond, he turned down the dark hallway, leaving his candle behind.

Caitlyn grimaced. “Don’t feel bad about that, Leliana. I’ll talk to him and reassure him.”

“Oh, please do,” Leliana said, her voice pained. “I would hate for my presence to come between the two of you, after everything you suffered.”

“It won’t,” she reassured her. “He’s jealous. He’s never really had anyone to be jealous of before, so I haven’t seen it... but that’s definitely what it is. And I... am not exactly innocent of that myself in the past. Regarding him, after we met again here,” she clarified. “Not you. I accepted your relationship with Lady Cousland once I heard about it.” She laughed sadly. “I guess that’s further proof that you were right that day about who really had my heart.”

Leliana gazed sadly at her as they lapsed into silence again. The women stared at each other before the former bard spoke again. “I’m so, so sorry about everything that happened,” she said softly. “I heard about your poor, sweet sister. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested that you wait to hear from me. If the messenger had reached Lothering before it was destroyed, my news would have been terrible anyway, and also false, and it would have been better if I had never urged you to wait for it.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes. She had thought she had already had this out with herself, grieved, thought about every angle of this and how it might have been different, blamed everyone and listened to everyone blame themselves as well, and finally accepted that there was no way to ever know what would have happened if this or that detail had been different. She had thought that when Carver had departed for Vigil’s Keep, they had finally exorcised the inclination to relive it and apportion blame. But she had never expected to talk with Leliana again until fairly recently, and this made her realize that there was still another person’s perspective she had been missing all along in the horrible tragedy.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said in a near-whisper. “My decision to stay was my own. And everyone in the family, Anders included, feels some guilt about what happened to Bethany. Probably even Mal,” she said bleakly.

Leliana gazed back at her. “He remembers Bethany? That’s good. I am glad.”

“I don’t know how clear his memories are,” she whispered, “but Mother has painted her, and drawn her—drawn all of us—and we always try to talk about things that happened, so that he remembers those stories, at least, and has a picture of her face in his mind always.” She breathed heavily. “I remember—vaguely—moving when I was about two and a half. That’s how old he was, of course. It’s possible to remember some things. I just hope that he remembers something about her other than her death. That’s we’re trying to do for him. Maybe... maybe the images of her in the Fade that he sees will help.”

“I am sure they will,” Leliana said reassuringly, “especially, perhaps, if he turns out to be a mage like his parents. Mages are said to have better memories because of the stronger connection to the Fade.”

Caitlyn was silent.

Leliana, the former bard, instantly recognized the truth. “He is,” she breathed. “You know already. He has already performed spells.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Caitlyn burst out pleadingly. “All right... I imagine Lady Cousland already knows, or suspects. She seems very clever, and Anders sends reports to her. But no one in the Chantry, not even Justinia! He could be taken from us if the wrong people learned!”

Leliana reached forward as if to touch Caitlyn, but she drew back before she did. “I will not tell a soul,” she promised. “I understand what could happen, and I would not do that to anyone.” She gave Caitlyn another regretful look. “Your poor family has suffered more than enough.”

“I suppose you learned about Bethany from Elissa Cousland,” Caitlyn said in a low voice, “and she from Anders.”

Leliana nodded. “Yes. I was... very upset... when she wrote to me that the mage I had asked about in the Circle had survived after all, and that she was curious if I had asked on behalf of someone else in Lothering.” She sighed. “I feared that your family had all perished at that point, since she knew that Anders had been looking for you throughout the Blight and carried your sister’s ashes.”

“I’m sorry. It seems that all of us had a thought like that at some point. Void take the Blight,” she suddenly burst out in a savage fury. “It ruins so much. So many lives lost, so much needless pain and suffering!”

“She tells me that two more Archdemons sleep yet,” Leliana whispered miserably.

Caitlyn gazed down at the floor. “I hope no one in this age has to deal with them,” she said, meaning it. “Enough! I am glad that it brought you and her together... there must be other such stories of love found amid tragedy... but it’s a curse otherwise.”

“I like to think that those stories of love coming out of a terrible event—or accounts of hope rewarded, such as your and Anders’ story, or hers and her brother’s—are the hand of the Maker, making sure that even the very worst things in this world are not _wholly_ absent of divine love.”

“I... am not sure I can believe that always happens,” Caitlyn said. “Sometimes an event is just horrible and nothing good comes out of it whatsoever, like the tragedy at the Fereldan Circle. But... perhaps in the bigger events, like a Blight, the scope is large enough that good things can happen to some people. I am glad that you found her,” she said sincerely. “It hurt that day... but you were right. Something was waiting for both of us, and my sister’s death doesn’t lessen that. It was a horrible tragedy and neither of us would have missed out on finding our true loves if she had lived. We just have to keep living and remember those we’ve lost. That is one thing I’ve learned.”

Leliana nodded. “You are right.”

“I should go,” she said. “Anders will be waiting for me at home.”

The former bard laughed. “Yes, it seems that you will have to talk with him and reassure him!”

“He’ll be fine,” Caitlyn replied. “But yes. Do you—Maker, I didn’t even think of this! Do you have a place to stay?”

“I have a room at an inn under a false name, and I am leaving for Highever at dawn tomorrow—in a private Cousland vessel,” she said. “My presence here should remain a secret if all goes well. I will ride for Amaranthine after that.”

“Well, safe travels to you,” Caitlyn said, giving her a chaste hug. “I’m so glad that you could come and just... talk. And I will be sure to keep in touch with you about what happens here that Justinia may need to know about.”

* * *

When Caitlyn returned home, she noticed that Anders was not in the sitting room. He had already gone to bed. Hoping that he had not also gone to sleep, she headed upstairs, resolving to bathe in the morning.

He was still awake, she saw, reading a book of magic by the runed lamp and trying not to scowl as she entered the bedroom. She instantly banished the thought of teasing him for his jealousy. It wasn’t as if she had any right to chastise him for being jealous of a previous partner....

“Anders,” she said, a wry half-smile forming on her face despite herself as she sat on the mattress. “It’s fine, darling.”

He closed the book and shelved it in the space of the headboard of the vast canopy bed. For a moment he gazed ahead—no, _glared_ ahead—into space, but that moment passed and he turned to face her, most of the tension gone from his face. Sheepishness and defensiveness filled his features instead. “All right, I understand it now,” he said. “I get it. I understand how you felt before. It really is different to meet and talk with a former partner of your lover... or spouse.”

She climbed on the bed and approached him, cuddling him gently next to his right side. “That doesn’t excuse how I acted  _that night._ It was hateful and inexcusable and it was about more than simple jealousy... but let’s not relive that.”

“Well, you were also jealous of Isabela when you first met her and she burst out with that comment... and yes, I admit it, I understand that kind of jealousy now.” He gazed at her, smiling dryly. His right arm snaked its way around her, and his gaze shifted to one that was much more possessive.

“We’re committed now,” she said gently, taking his left hand and fingering the ring she had given him, the enchanted ring that had once belonged to her father. “I trust you utterly—”

“And I trust you,” he said in a soft voice.

“So there is no reason to fear the past.” _The future, on the other hand—_ She broke off that thought at once, not wanting to ruin the moment. She had plenty of experience with Anders in a passionate, possessive mood—albeit not because he was jealous of anyone else before—and she knew where it would inevitably lead. She definitely did not want _that_ stopped.

He pulled her close, swinging her around and falling onto the pillows with her landing almost entirely on top of him. He kept her pinned with his arm around her back, raising her chin with his free hand until they were gazing into each other’s eyes—but only for a second, as they both closed the gap in a deep, fiery kiss.

She let him hold her in place, enjoying the heat of his body so close to hers and the tight grip of his arm, and particularly enjoying what it meant right now—that he was holding her so firmly in part because he wanted to show her to whom she belonged.  _And he is mine too,_ she thought, managing to thread her fingers into his hair, mussing it thoroughly, tugging handfuls of it hard enough to show  _him_ to whom he belonged but not hard enough to hurt.

They continued the kiss until she realized that she was still wearing her day dress. He had shed his feathery coat and street clothes for his silky, comfortable house jacket and trousers—and from the feel of it, no smallclothes, she realized with a start—but she was fully clothed. “I need to get this off,” she said, regretfully pulling away from him and sitting upright on the bed.

For a moment she thought he would lie on the pillow and watch her disrobe, but after merely a moment, he bolted upright and reached for the hem of her skirt. She had opened the high collar of the dress already, leaving the bodice draped loosely across her chest, and she was untying the silken rope belt around her waist. He huffed impatiently, waiting for her to do that, then lifted the entire dress over her head in a sweeping movement and tossed it aside, leaving her in a loose, bare-shoulder long-sleeved shift. She pulled this off before he could make work of it as he had done the overdress, then gazed at him in only her smalls, smiling knowingly.

“Go ahead,” she urged him, surprised at how sultry her voice sounded. “Remind me I’m yours. You know you want to, my love. And I want you to.”

A low, half-strangled growl escaped his throat. In the next second, he pushed her down hard on the mattress, almost knocking the breath out of her as she hit the pillows. He was on top of her almost immediately, untying the loose fabric belt around the waistline of his jacket as she slipped out of her smalls. It almost surprised her to realize that she was already hot and wet for him from merely the kiss and the anticipation. Almost.

He was  _perfect_ tonight, she thought, as he slid into her and moved tenderly but firmly. He was pressed very close against her, the angle creating added pleasure deep inside her with each motion, and he punctuated these with nips and kisses against her neck that were too hard, and which felt too purposeful, to be unintentionally so. When the first cry escaped her throat, the sound seemed to drive him wild. He increased his pace to a rhythm that rapidly sent her toward her peak—and brought more cries to her lips. In a few more minutes, they reached a shattering wave together, clinging, whimpering for each other, planting quick little kisses on each other’s cheeks in rapid succession as they stroked each other’s heated, rippling skin.

“I love you so, so much,” she murmured as he rolled off her and she cuddled next to him.

“We have said it so many times now,” he said, pulling her close under the covers and wrapping an arm around her, “but it’s still true.”


	3. Coveting What Was Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story! I am fudging the timeline a bit because I don’t see any particular reason why Qunari-related quests must occur before “All That Remains” does, and it works better for this story for the Qunari arc not to be broken up with other things. In addition, well... read on.
> 
> Song inspiration is “Ruiner” by Nine Inch Nails.

Caitlyn stormed into the house, followed by Aveline, who looked equally irritated. Before she had left to meet with Aveline in the Keep, she had put Mal to bed, and her mother had followed soon after, but Anders was still awake and waiting for her. He looked up sharply at the entrance of the two red-haired, hot-tempered women grousing at each other.

“I am not doing the work of paranoid Templars!” Caitlyn exclaimed to her friend, eyes wide. “If the City Guard went to this man’s house, searched it _thoroughly,_ and found nothing, then of course it was just more paranoia on Meredith’s part and that of her henchmen!”

“Caitlyn,” Aveline said, “I don’t dispute your point. Ser Emeric made fools of my guards, and I’m not pleased about it. The Guard of Kirkwall serves the city and is supposed to be at the Viscount’s disposal, not that of the Knight-Commander.”

“The less I say about Viscount Dumar’s weakness right now, the better. It’s perfectly obvious that when Meredith assassinated Viscount Threnhold and selected Dumar, she was choosing someone she could control.”

“Viscount Threnhold was a menace to the city, I’ve heard,” Aveline said.

“I don’t doubt that, but it wasn’t the place of the Templar Order to get involved in politics, let alone commit regicide.”

Anders spoke up at last. “I agree with Caitlyn.  Perhaps Threnhold deserved it, but it was the duty of Kirkwall’s nobles to depose him peacefully, and then the duty of the people to overthrow a tyrant after the nobles failed in  _ their _ duty. But as you say, darling,” he added to Caitlyn, “she knew what she was doing. Dumar is very... pliant.”

Aveline sighed heavily. “That said... someone  _ is  _ killing women throughout Kirkwall. I think Emeric is correct that the murders are connected and that this is not just the usual gang-related crime. There were indications in his investigation that suggested it was one person, one murderer, who was targeting women for a reason. You should look at the notes, Caitlyn. I suspect that you had to recover the body of a victim once before.”

Caitlyn pulled a parcel of parchment out of her pack and scowled at it. “It was about three years ago. I didn’t recover the ‘body’ of a victim; I recovered the  _ hand.” _ She looked at the documents. “This Templar thinks the murderer is a mage, of course. Gascard DuPuis, an Orlesian noble living in Hightown.”

“There _are_ a surprising number of apostate mages among the lower Orlesian nobility,” Aveline said.

“That’s true,” Anders chimed in, to Caitlyn’s surprise. “The demon that cast Justice out of the Fade had taken over an Orlesian noblewoman who had been a mage—a blood mage, in fact. And I heard in Amaranthine that the late Arlessa of Redcliffe had her mage son kept out of the Circle because it was commonplace in Orlais for lower nobles to do that.” He paused. “Of course, maybe those aren’t the best examples to use....”

“And Petrice is fairly liberal about mages because of that same culture,” Caitlyn said. “I know. I have never met DuPuis; he seems like a recluse, but perhaps he is a mage. I’m the last person to judge him if he is an apostate! But my point is that this Templar, this Ser Emeric, may be onto something but suspects the wrong person _because_ he is biased against mages.”

Aveline sat down in a chair and gazed at her friend. “As I said, the City Guard found nothing in his house. But... perhaps you should pay him a visit. You are a mage; perhaps you could detect hidden things that non-mages could not. Just to be sure.” When Caitlyn still looked unconvinced, Aveline pleaded with her. “Women are  _ dying,  _ Caitlyn, and this is the only lead anyone has.”

Caitlyn sighed heavily as she looked over the notes again. As much as she hated to admit it, she realized that the Templar had connected at least some of the dots in the same way that she would have. He was not lyrium-addled; his mind was sharp. There  _ were  _ commonalities in the murders, which implied something far more sinister and deliberate than street crime.  _ And if he’s right—if DuPuis is a mage and a murderer—then it’s in my best interest to take care of this myself and clean up quietly afterward. Otherwise it would be used against me when I try to make my own move for power: a noble of Hightown who was a secret apostate mage, doing horrible things with his arcane talent. I... suppose Aveline is right. _

She glanced up at Aveline and nodded. “All right. I’ll go to his house.”

* * *

Anders stayed at home when Merrill and Varric showed up to join Caitlyn and Aveline. Their plan was to always have a mage at the house—either one of them or Merrill—in case Mal practiced magic and lost control of a spell, but if a dangerous murderer who targeted women really was on the loose, it seemed advisable for Leandra’s and Orana’s sakes too. They did not know how to defend themselves.

As Caitlyn led the small group down the street, she tried to suppress her growing indignation, to little avail. _I found the remains of a victim three years ago!_ she thought angrily. _Street gangs wouldn’t cut off someone’s hand and leave a valuable ring on the finger. It was clear then that something worse was afoot. Apparently there have been more women killed since then, and as usual, nothing has been done about it. Nothing gets done about anything in this city until it’s too late!_

“Aveline,” she said, attempting to keep the irritation out of her tone, “I was wondering, actually. Why is it that a Templar is the only one to investigate this? Does the City Guard not have enough money?”

Aveline stiffened defensively. “I am still discovering petty corruption,” she said, her voice taut. “It is shocking how many guards are being extorted by a gang or crime guild to whom they owe coin. Believe me, Hawke, I’m not satisfied with this state of affairs either, but when problems are rooted so deeply, it takes time to dig them all out.” She paused and added, pointedly, “You may learn that yourself one day.”

Caitlyn was silent, taking that in. Did Aveline know about her ambition too? Varric certainly had guessed, but she was not sure about the rest of her friends. Merrill was probably oblivious. Fenris and Isabela... well, Fenris was clever; it would not surprise her if he had guessed too. He had been keeping more to himself lately, settling in to his old master’s house and trying to teach himself to read. She approved; it seemed that he was inspired by the fact that Mal could read well, and moreover, it was a sign that he was trying to make a life for himself that had purpose beyond revenge on Magister Danarius. As for Isabela... Caitlyn realized suddenly that she had not seen much of the pirate lately, and when she had, Isabela had not been herself. She had been anxious, jittery, and disinclined to make jokes and innuendo. It seemed that she had even broken off her... relationship, or whatever it was, with Fenris; Caitlyn had not seen them together in weeks.  _Something is up,_ Caitlyn realized. As soon as she settled this matter tonight, she resolved to have a serious talk with Isabela.

They reached the entrance to the DuPuis house and promptly entered. Almost as soon as they stepped inside, a pack of shades descended upon them.

“I don’t suppose the guards had anything like _this_ happen!” Caitlyn exclaimed as she felled one of the Fade creatures, which disappeared in a fetid black vapor. Beside her, Merrill was screaming Dalish curses and casting spells Caitlyn had never seen from anyone except this young elf.

“Certainly not!” Aveline replied, smashing her sword into the side of one of the creatures. Caitlyn hesitated for a moment before casting a spell that would enchant the blade—and Varric’s bolts—with the elements.

At last all the Fade creatures on both the ground and upper level of the house were gone. Caitlyn noticed a note on a nearby table and picked it up. Her gaze grew stormy as she read it, but this was not the time to share its contents. Anders would find this highly interesting, she decided, pocketing it. Aveline raised her eyebrows but did not comment, and the group continued through the house.

A set of blood-filled glassware lay prominently in the next room. Merrill’s eyes widened. “I think he  _is_ a blood mage,” she said in a low voice.

“You think?” Aveline muttered. Her visage was growing dark.

_“Please don’t!”_

The terrified cry shattered the air. Caitlyn, Merrill, Varric, and Aveline jumped to their feet and dashed down the hall in the direction of the woman’s voice, boots pounding and echoing downstairs. Caitlyn stopped in front of a door, caught her breath, and slammed it open, her staff at the ready.

A man with dirty blond hair was standing imperiously over a well-dressed woman who had been badly injured. Her face was bruised and her arms bore red scratches and cuts. As she quickly took in the scene, Caitlyn felt a flaming hot rage suffuse her body. She readied a fireball to fling at the man—

“Stop!” he exclaimed, holding up a hand, eyes wide, as he turned around to face them. “This is not what it seems!”

“Oh, isn’t it?” she retorted as flames formed in her palm.

“I am not the one killing women around Kirkwall,” the man, presumably DuPuis, insisted. “If you will let me explain....”

“Oh, this I have to hear,” she said. “Do _explain,_ then. Explain why this woman is cowering before you, bloodied and terrified! Explain the shades that you set to attack us and the vials of blood in your room, too!”

“I did not set the shades to attack _you,”_ said DuPuis, “but after this house was raided once, I needed to set up defenses for myself.”

“To defend yourself against the law.”

“I am not the murderer,” he insisted. “I am trying to _find_ the killer, in fact! He killed my sister!” He gave the woman on the floor a glance of disdain. “She is frightened of my method.”

“Your method being blood magic, no doubt.”

“Yes, I am using blood magic to try to find him,” DuPuis admitted. “He has left a trail of blood throughout the city in the form of his victims’ remains. This can be used to track him down... provided that it does not become too old to be usable....” He sighed. “Unfortunately, the trail _is_ cold.”

“And this woman? She looks alive to me,” Caitlyn said acidly.

“In case the murderer targets her next, I would be able to track her quickly and recover her—and capture the killer as well.”

“Then you’ve got what you need!” snarled Caitlyn. “She doesn’t want to be here. If you are telling the truth, how about giving me a piece of evidence for that other than your word? Let her go. _Now.”_

DuPuis sighed again. “She would be safer staying... but as she wishes.”

The woman scampered to her feet and ran from the room without another look at the man who had been her captor. Caitlyn rather hoped that she would not tattle to the Templars about what she had just seen, or if she did, that she would not be able to identify Caitlyn.  _She took up with DuPuis knowing that he was a mage,_ she thought.  _Surely she isn’t like that... and surely she would not turn in her rescuers._ When she was gone, Caitlyn turned furiously to DuPuis. “I still don’t trust you,” she said.

His eyebrows furrowed in anger. “You said that if I let her go—”

“I didn’t say I would let _you_ go. You brought the Templars here—a secret mage living in Hightown, like me! They used to let Hightown alone! Living here used to be a guarantee that Meredith wouldn’t—” She broke off, aware that Varric and Aveline were staring at her in absolute shock at this self-centered turn of her thoughts.

DuPuis realized it too. His gaze narrowed. “So that’s what you care about,” he sneered, “yourself. You might even believe me, but it does not matter if you think I have put  _you_ at risk from that lyrium-slurping hag.”

She formed another fireball threateningly in her palms. “I have a family, DuPuis. I care about _them_ —and I did  _not_ say that I believed you,” she added. “You are not the only blood mage present. My elven friend and I both are.”

Aveline gave Caitlyn a shocked look and drew back slightly. Varric was unsurprised, but then, he had seen her do it in Corypheus’s prison last year. She had not used it since then, but she was quite certain that she remembered how.

DuPuis stiffened. He clenched his fist, his nostrils flared, and it appeared for a moment that this would become a hard, bloody, unpleasant fight—until Caitlyn, who had been readying her own magic, felt a tug of her sleeve. She turned, and Merrill was gazing at her with wide green eyes.

“Can I tell you something?” the young elf woman asked.

Caitlyn breathed out through her clenched teeth. This was not the time for one of Merrill’s statements that were apropos of nothing. But as she considered her friend, she realized that Merrill seemed very intent on this. She felt a pang of guilt for her irritation as she nodded quickly and stepped aside.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” said Merrill in a whisper.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. “How do you know?” Something occurred to her. “Merrill—can you  _read minds_ with blood magic?”  _And if you can, I want to—_ She broke off that thought at once, feeling ashamed for even having it.

“Not exactly. Not individual thoughts. But it is sometimes possible to get a broad sense of something, especially if the person is thinking especially hard about it at the time. There was a drop of his own blood on an artifact downstairs—the one that had trapped the shades before he released them, I think—and that is how. I don’t think he is lying that he is not the murderer.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes momentarily, considering her options. Her own outrage about the Templar-initiated raid on a Hightown estate was comparatively unimportant, and she realized it now, to her shame. It was a reaction from fear for Anders, Mal, and—yes—herself, not reason; DuPuis had brought Emeric down on himself by his own conduct, and the Templars would not suddenly demand to search everyone in Hightown now. What mattered more was bringing the murderer to justice. If she let DuPuis go and it turned out that Merrill was wrong about this, any future deaths would be on her, and she knew it. But if DuPuis was not the killer, that meant that her initial instinct—that the Templar had been overzealous—was correct. But this visit had confirmed that there was indeed  _a_ killer, and if DuPuis was not it, that meant that this was a dead end, with no clear path forward.  _Other than his approach,_ she thought.

Quickly coming to a decision that she hoped she would not regret, she turned back around and faced Aveline, Varric, and DuPuis. “All right,” she said, her features contorting into a scowl.  _I won’t put this on Merrill,_ she decided at once.  _I won’t say it’s because of what Merrill told me... even though it obviously is. I want to be a leader, so I will own this decision myself, Maker help me._ “I don’t trust you, DuPuis, and I think it’s worse than despicable that you would use blood magic on women without their consent, whatever ‘good purpose’ you may have for it. That sort of high-and-mighty behavior is exactly why some people hate all mages... and I’d wager that it’s what got a Templar interested in you. As a mage myself, I don’t appreciate it.”

Aveline and Varric seemed to realize what Caitlyn had decided to do, even though she was not finished speaking. They also seemed to disapprove. But Caitlyn had expected that, especially from Aveline, and she continued resolutely. “But... and I may regret this... I believe you when you say you aren’t the killer.” Her gaze narrowed. “If it turns out that you have lied... there will be nothing left of you when I’m through with you.”

Relief spread over the nobleman’s features. “You will not regret it,” he assured her at once. “And I will not forget this.”

Caitlyn did not like that comment one bit. She gave him a menacing glare as she turned aside. Aveline was glowering as they headed toward the top of the stairs.

“He sends his victims lilies just before he abducts them.”

“What?” she said sharply, whirling around.

“That is his calling card, as it were,” said DuPuis. “He murdered my sister, and I have talked to the friends of a couple of victims, and that is what happened before they died as well. A bouquet of white lilies left at their home with no sender identified, as though from a secret admirer.”

“That is utterly depraved,” Caitlyn growled.

“I have shared this with you to protect you—well, _you_ and your lady friends here are quite capable of protecting yourselves, but if there are any women in your acquaintance who are not, it is the only warning sign that the killer’s victims seem to get.”

Aveline and Merrill seemed offended at his use of the term “lady friends,” even in the midst of an apparent compliment of their fighting prowess, but Caitlyn found this man slimy and unsavory for other reasons. Even if he was telling the truth—and she hoped to the Maker that he was—his interest in this killer seemed to be something other than a desire to bring him to justice. She could not put her finger on exactly what it was; any diligent investigator  _would_ know a great deal about the killer’s “signature,” but there was something about the way that he talked about the lilies that made her skin crawl. He spoke of his sister almost as an aside.

“Then I will know what to do if anyone I know ever receives them,” she said. “I meant what I said, DuPuis. If you lied to me tonight, I swear before the Maker that you will pay for it.”

* * *

Caitlyn and Merrill had barely had time to stash their staves in shrubbery upon the silhouetted approach of another Templar. Fortunately, the woman did not see their actions—but her message was very disturbing, claiming that Ser Emeric had agreed to meet them as per the contents of her note.

“I didn’t give a note to Ser Emeric,” Caitlyn told the Templar, chills of alarm darting down her spine. “Someone forged my name.”

The woman’s eyes widened in concern. She drew her blade. “Then it is a trap for him! I hope I am not too late....” She dashed off.

Caitlyn and Merrill turned to their friends. “I’m not going,” Caitlyn said at once. “I’m sure she is right, but I’m not revealing myself as a mage to her.”

“Nor am I,” said Merrill.

Aveline sighed. “If that man has laid a trap for Ser Emeric....”

“How about this?” Caitlyn said. “You and Varric can follow that Templar if you want. Merrill and I will wait here. If you come back with evidence of his involvement in the trap....” She did not need to finish the sentence.

After Aveline and Varric left to follow the Templar, the two mages waited nervously for their friends to return. At last the dwarf and the guard captain trudged back, both of them looking very unsettled and disturbed.

“The Templar was dead,” Aveline reported grimly. “It was in an alley, and there were shades all over, but Ser Emeric was already dead.”

Caitlyn grabbed her staff tightly. “That lying bastard....”

“I don’t think he did it, Hawke,” Varric put in, to her surprise. “It was too well-planned, I think. You only talked to Emeric today, right?”

“This evening, with Aveline,” she confirmed.

“That means that the person who summoned the shades must have been watching, to know to forge the note from you specifically,” Varric continued. “And gave it to Emeric after you had left, and then summoned all the shades to that alley to kill him. And DuPuis was at his home the whole time. He _could_ have hired an agent, I suppose, but it seems less likely than that he... really is not the murderer.”

Caitlyn let out her breath in relief. “That makes sense, Varric.” She grimaced, suddenly ashamed of herself. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been so against Ser Emeric. He was all right. He was investigating a murderer... who, if he summoned shades, really is a mage. He just had the wrong one.” She sighed heavily and stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up, resolved. “We’ll continue the investigation that he started. His work will go on until the killer is brought to justice.”

* * *

“It’s about bloody time,” Anders exclaimed as Caitlyn stepped back into the house. “I was about to go out looking for you!”

She managed a brief smile, but could not sustain it. “Anders... we have to resolve this. The man that the Templar thought was a killer really wasn’t... but there is a murderer on the loose, and it is a mage, as much as I hate to say that. It can’t continue.”

He considered for a moment before nodding. “People like that... if they even deserve to be called ‘people’... give all of us a bad name.”

“I agree.” She pulled out the note that she had picked up in DuPuis’s mansion and passed it to him. It was wrinkled and damp from evening humidity, but it was still readable. “This seems comparatively unimportant now in the grand scheme of things, but I thought you might find the last sentence—and the writer—rather, ah, interesting.”

_ “‘I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the Circle of the Magi, as a whole, does not welcome casual inquiries about the mages in its care,’” _ Anders read, his gaze narrowing in contempt. “Oh, that they don’t—even from the families, the parents, of children who have been locked up there! They certainly bloody well  _ don’t  _ want anyone ‘inquiring’ about the mages there! And this is from  _ First Enchanter Raddick _ of Starkhaven!” He tossed the wrinkled note on the table beside him and shook his head derisively. “What a pathetic tosser,” he spat. “Who knew it was possible to write with one hand and stroke off Templars with the other? There must be holes in his robes around the knees!”

Caitlyn stifled a shriek of laughter in spite of the events of this evening. She had never heard Anders express his contempt in such vulgar terms; usually he was very dark and dour when he talked about Circle abuses, and it was hilarious to hear him just spewing bile like any ordinary person.

Anders continued heatedly. “I’d assume that DuPuis was writing to Starkhaven because he thinks the killer was one of their escaped mages....”

“I don’t remember if the murders began before or after those mages escaped,” Caitlyn said. “He might not have been with that group, but yes, it seems that DuPuis thinks the killer has a connection to Starkhaven’s Circle. And the Circle refused to help.”

“Typical,” Anders sneered. “Utterly typical.”

Caitlyn then explained to him what had transpired that evening, from the confrontation at the DuPuis house to the ambush set in the alley that Varric and Aveline had handled. “This murderer is very dangerous,” she said, “and even though I let DuPuis go, I don’t like him and I don’t trust him either. He seemed unhealthily interested in this case... and I don’t know what to think about his claimed reason for involving himself. Either he lied about having a sister who was killed, or she didn’t mean that much to him and he’s become too interested in the killer to conceal that. At least, that’s how it seemed to me.”

Anders stared ahead. “I didn’t hear him, so I can’t say. People handle grief differently... but I trust your instincts, love. If you got a bad feeling from him, I trust that.” He got up from his seat and pulled her to her feet, his arms resting around her waist. “Let’s forget about it for tonight, though.”

She smiled, leaning against him. “I can’t go straight to bed, Anders. I need a bath badly.”

He chuckled. “Well, we’ve got a nice tub for that. I’ll join you.”

“That would be lovely.”

* * *

The next afternoon, Caitlyn resolved to talk with Isabela about her recent odd behavior. She knew that the murder case needed resolution too, but she did not have a better idea than DuPuis did for that. It was disgusting to think of using a woman as bait for a killer against her will, as he was doing... but she didn’t have an answer herself. She just hoped that if the murderer did abduct the woman she had seen the night before, DuPuis would be able to get there in time to prevent her from being killed.

Caitlyn hoped that Isabela would come to the Hawke mansion to talk. Mal went with Anders to the clinic in Darktown, but she still hated being away from home. The clinic was so close to the secret basement entrance that it almost felt like an extension of the house now, rather than a separate location. But Isabela sent a reply that she would not intrude on Caitlyn’s hospitality and preferred the Hanged Man, if Caitlyn “really wanted reassurance that all was well.”

_ All is not well, _ Caitlyn thought, resignedly gathering her pack.  _ If all were well, she would not tell me that. If all were well, Isabela would make a joke about my worries. _ She realized that Isabela intended to hide behind the raucous atmosphere of the bar as a way to avoid having a serious, sincere discussion.  _ But Varric will also be there, most likely, _ she thought.  _ I’ll corner her with him. _

The pirate was sitting in a dark corner on the far side of the Hanged Man, her sharp honey eyes gazing out suspiciously. She was still quite recognizable, but it was obvious that she was seated as far from the front entrance as she could be, and that she was using the shadows of the common room to make herself less noticeable. An inquiry with the bartender revealed that Varric was not there, to Caitlyn’s disappointment, but as she made her way to Isabela’s tiny table, she resolved that she would just do this herself.

The pirate captain smirked and shook her head at the contents of Caitlyn’s glass. “That’s expensive,” she said. “I can tell from how it smells.”

Caitlyn smiled back, though it was an empty smile. Her small rocks glass did contain the priciest whiskey from the Fereldan Bannorn—the southern epicenter of grain whiskey distillation in Thedas—that the Hanged Man sold. “I guess I’ve gone soft. I can’t drink rotgut anymore.”

“Hightown does that to you, sweetcakes.” Isabela said, downing her own drink with one shot. She swallowed without a wince, as if to prove her point. “Now. What’s all this about you being ‘troubled’ for me?”

Her tone was too light and dismissive, and it did not fool Caitlyn for one second. She leaned forward on the table and met Isabela’s gaze with a hard one of her own. “You haven’t seemed yourself lately, Isa. You don’t joke... you’ve broken up with Fenris....”

“Fenris and I were never ‘together,’” she replied. “It was just sex.”

“I’m not quite sure I buy that,” Caitlyn said. “You had _something_ with him for two years that made you keep turning back to him. When have you _ever_ done that with anyone? I don’t know if it was exclusive... but it doesn’t matter. Some people can be committed without having to be monogamous. I’m not one of them... but maybe you are. You said once that you don’t like to be ‘tied down,’ but you were with him for _two years._ That’s a commitment, Isabela.”

Isabela eyed her with a glower. “You really need to mind your own business, Hawke, and not try to matchmake for your friends. If you have a burning itch to see people together, then keep the lamps burning tonight when Anders pins you to the mattress—and don’t let him blindfold you.” She forced a smirk on her face.

In spite of the fact that this was an obvious attempt to placate her with a normal—for Isabela—bawdy comment, Caitlyn briefly smirked too. “Thank you for the advice,” she said. “I’ll definitely do that.”

Isabela grinned. Her gaze became somewhat unfocused, and Caitlyn realized that she was rather enjoying the image she had put in her own head. That was awkward. Even to this day she did not like to remember that Isabela also knew what Anders looked like nude, and how he— _no, _ she thought, ending that at once before it took over her thoughts.  _ One night eight years ago versus... Maker, hundreds of times now. _ That realization made her feel quite smug and calmed her disturbed thoughts. _ I know intimate things about him, things that he likes me to do and things he can do to me, that nobody else knows because we discovered them together. _

She took a breath and let it out, returning her thoughts to the present moment and task. “In all seriousness, I’m worried about you,” she said. “You’ve also been holed up in here... and just today, you’re lurking in the shadows. I’ve never known you to deliberately try to avoid fights with people who were after you.”

Isabela broke Caitlyn’s gaze and fixed hers instead on Caitlyn’s glass. “No one is after me.”

“Isabela,” she said, shaking her head slightly, “you know I don’t believe that. Someone is, and it’s someone you’re genuinely frightened of, or you would go and confront them. That worries me, a _lot._ I’m worried for _you,_ and you can trust me with whatever it is. We’re friends... aren’t we?”

Isabela stared ahead, past Caitlyn. She did not speak for a while, and Caitlyn was about to repeat her plea, when the pirate finally responded.

“Yes, we are friends, and that is _why_ I can’t tell you.”

“Friends help each other with their problems.”

Isabela looked pained. “I... can’t ask you to help me with this one,” she said, her voice surprisingly weak. “I don’t want you or any of the others—including Fenris—involved in this. You’re right. I broke up with him. Part of that is because... well, I don’t know how to have a relationship, not like you and Anders, and he’s so... he’s free for the first time in his life, and he’s lost so much, and he deserves more than....” She broke off, shaking her head. “You and Anders have a child who needs you, and the others... it’s  _ because  _ you are my friends that I can’t involve you in—in what I’m dealing with. Not this time, Hawke,” she insisted when Caitlyn opened her mouth to object again. “Please. Trust me on this. I can’t do that to you.”

“Isabela, _who is after you?”_

The pirate grimaced and stared at the table dully. “I can’t tell you,” she said in that weak voice that was so unsuited for the bold, saucy woman that Caitlyn knew. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Then it’s too dangerous for you to fight alone.”

“I don’t intend to fight them. That’s not my plan.” Guilt flooded her face.

Caitlyn was about to demand to know what she meant by that when someone tapped her shoulder. She turned around sharply to face Varric. His expression was shockingly dark.

“Varric! What’s the matter?” she exclaimed.

“You need to come home, Hawke,” he said. “At once.”

She rose to her feet, finishing off her whiskey with a single gulp. Despite being smooth, it burned on the way down. Varric grimaced at the sight of her taking a shot, which worried her even more. “I’m all right, Varric,” she reassured him. “I ate before coming here. What’s the matter at home?”

“There’s... a situation.”

That could mean almost anything. “A situation? Has Mal—”

“He’s fine,” Varric assured her as she gave Isabela an apologetic, parting glance—but Isabela was rising to her feet as well, albeit in a somewhat conflicted way. “Anders has it in hand... for now. But we need to get back as soon as we can.”

After another brief moment of hesitation, Isabela followed after them.

* * *

Varric did not have much to say to them along the way, and to Caitlyn’s surprise, he thought it better to sneak back into the mansion through the basement than to enter openly through the front door.

“What’s going on?” she demanded of him at last as they crawled down a ladder into Darktown. “Is someone watching the house?” _Meredith Stannard?_ she thought immediately—but then her thoughts admitted of a second, even worse possibility. _Or the murderer?_

“Possibly,” Varric said grimly. “Probably,” he amended. “Hawke, I wish I could tell you more, but Anders himself didn’t want to say much. I don’t entirely understand what’s going on myself, just that he wanted you back as soon as you could get there, but that he didn’t want you to be seen entering the house from the street.”

They kept to the shadows as they passed through the corridors of Darktown, finally emerging through the secret trapdoor into the basement. They closed and locked the trapdoor behind them and crept up the stairs, through the basement entrance to the ground floor. Anders was waiting for them, his staff in hand, his gaze alert and wary.

“What’s going on?” Caitlyn asked him. “Is everyone all right?”

“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “Come here. I’ll show you.” He walked down the hallway, where—to her surprise—one of her staves rested in a corner. She had not left it there. “You should take that,” he said as they passed it. “I think you’ll need it soon. Varric—you have Bianca, as usual, and Isabela... yes, you’re armed too.”

“Anders, what in the—” She broke off her question as they entered the sitting room. Her blood ran cold. On the nearest table, a bouquet of white lilies rested.

“Lilies?” Isabela said, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t get it....” Varric whispered an explanation to her—they all seemed to have an unspoken agreement to keep their voices low in case the murderer approached while they were talking and realized that other people were at home—and her eyes grew wide. She scowled and drew her razor-sharp blades from her back at once, nodding.

“They’re all upstairs,” Anders said quietly. “I had to explain to your mother, Caitlyn. She didn’t understand. But she does now, and they are all upstairs, and all _together,_ in Mal’s room. It is warded.”

“What about Mal?” she said, upset that the child had to know about something as awful as this. “Does _he_ understand?”

Anders grimaced. “I think he does. I’m sorry.” He gazed at her unhappily. “He already understood about bad people who wanted to kill his family members....”

“Thanks to my first year in Kirkwall,” she muttered.

“He wants to protect them with his magic. Of course, he can’t, not against this, but....”

“He’s like us,” she finished quietly. He nodded.

They reached the front of the house. “And now... we wait,” Caitlyn said, glowering at the front door.

“He’ll show up,” Anders said grimly. “And we’ll be ready when he does.”

“Should we get the others?” she asked.

“I don’t know how much time we’ll have before he makes his appearance,” Anders said, “and if anyone is indiscreet, it would tip him off and he wouldn’t show at all. And, uh, well, the other three of your friends are not exactly the most discreet.”

“Fenris can be concealed if he needs to,” Caitlyn said, “but I take your point about time.”

They waited, and the minutes dragged on interminably slowly, until at last a quiet knock sounded on the front door. The rogues gave each other pointed looks and retreated to the shadows, their weapons drawn. Anders readied his staff. Caitlyn took a deep breath and prepared herself.  _ Should I? _ she thought, glancing at her arm.  _ If ever it is justified, it is in a time like this, _ she answered herself.  _ Fight fire with fire... or blood with blood. _ Anders caught her glance and closed his eyes, clearly realizing the question that she pondered, but he seemed resigned. She gave him a quick apologetic glance as she nicked her arm on her knife. She felt her magic surge in her. Taking another breath, she pulled open the door.

It took only a fraction of a second to realize that this was not someone they knew and was not a harmless messenger. The man at the door gasped as he realized that his arrival was anticipated and his would-be victim was not there. He snarled in fury, revealing his teeth, and readied a spell.

The mechanism of Varric’s crossbow clicked, and a bolt thudded into his shoulder. A spurt erupted from the wound—but it became clear at once that he was a blood mage too. He clenched his fist, and a debilitating punch hit all four of them as blood suddenly erupted from their bodies, not enough to kill, but enough to weaken. Laughing in glee, the murderer took advantage of the time to throw up a magical shield that would block most physical and magical attacks.

_ But not all, _ Caitlyn thought, staggering on her feet. She was furious with herself for not taking him out first, but this magical wound he had just given her, unpleasant as it was, was still something she could use. She focused her magical energy, feeling it surge more powerfully than ever before— _but then, I’ve never used a blood wound this big before, _ she thought darkly—and blasted the killer as hard as she could. His shield went down, dissipating in the air. Shock filled his face.

Caitlyn clenched her fist around her staff and slammed it on the floor. A wave of cold shot forth, encasing him, freezing him solid—but only for a second. He was a very powerful mage, she realized, and he knew what he was up against now.

The fight was protracted and very ugly. Anders had to step back at one point and blast the entire group with a powerful healing spell to counter the killer’s damage, and because Caitlyn was using blood magic, it was less effective on her. She was meeting the enemy spell for spell, blasting him repeatedly with everything she knew. Varric was shooting bolts at the man and Isabela was doing a deadly dance around him, slicing and stabbing with her blades, the two rogues trying to time their attacks with Caitlyn’s immobilizing blasts of cold and raw force so that he could not use the wounds to power blood magic spells.

“Why won’t you _die?”_ Caitlyn screamed furiously at him, at last giving in and hurling a violent fireball indoors. It struck target, and the mage finally hobbled to his knees, the flames going out even as he did. Anders glared and sent a spell to put him into a deep sleep. At last he tumbled to the carpet, out cold—but not yet dead.

“I’m perfectly fine executing him while he sleeps,” Caitlyn snarled as Anders sent another healing spell at all of the group. “Let’s finish this.”

“We need to know where his lair is,” Anders pointed out. “There might... possibly... be victims still alive. Or notes, or other accomplices.”

She growled in frustration but saw his point. “Yes, we do, but I still don’t know. He’s too dangerous to interrogate.” She stared down, a thought suddenly crossing her mind. “Unless....”

A bad feeling crossed Anders’ mind. “Cait, what are you going to do?”

She smiled darkly, feeling oddly excited. “I’ll make him talk... and no more than talk.”

Anders, Varric, and Isabela all drew their breath sharply as Caitlyn cast the blood enslavement spell on the captive. Her gaze was set and hard—and the truth was, although she was feeling rash and a bit giddy from breaking yet another magical taboo, she was also a little frightened of herself right now. It had been well over a year since she had used blood magic—until tonight, and now, not only had she left a pool of blood all over the foyer from her attacks, she was using a spell that had once been, to her, an inviolable red line.  _ Enslaving people’s minds is never all right, _ she had once thought—but now, she was doing it.

_ He is a sick, twisted murderer, _ she argued with herself as the man awakened groggily. His gaze was unfocused and his jaw slack.  _ He’s too dangerous to interrogate by normal means, as I just said. He can just bite the inside of his own mouth and have a source of magic to draw from. This has to be done if we are to get anything out of him. _

“You have a hideout,” she said, glaring. “You are based somewhere. Where is it?”

“It is a foundry in Lowtown,” he replied in a toneless voice.

“Oh,” Isabela said, “I think I know where that is. It’s been used for... smuggling,” she said, her voice suddenly becoming self-conscious.

Caitlyn was momentarily curious, but this was not the time to inquire further. She fixed the mage with a hard glare. “And what will we find there?” she demanded. “What accomplices or... summonings... do you have?”

“Demons,” he said. “Desire demons. They occupy the bodies.”

Looks of disgust and contempt filled their faces at these words. “What else?” she said, trying to control her anger until she was finished.

“Shades. Possessed corpses. That is it.”

“Any wards or traps?”

“No wards, no traps.”

Caitlyn stood back, glowering with utter hatred at the killer. “I’ve still got him—his disgusting mind, that is—if anyone else wants to question him,” she spat, “but I’ve heard enough.”

“So have I,” said Anders, disgust written on his face.

“And I,” added Varric.

Isabela’s lips were curled and her nose was wrinkled. She sighed in revulsion and gave Caitlyn a quick nod.

“All right, then,” Caitlyn said. “All together, shall we?”

Despite the blood enslavement that he was under, the man realized exactly what was happening as the two mages and two rogues simultaneously stabbed, shot, and blasted his body into red chunks of ice.

Caitlyn heaved a huge breath and collapsed to the floor, burying her head between her legs and closing her eyes.  _ My mother would have been killed, _ she thought.  _ My mother and possibly my son, if that man thought he was in the way. If Anders had not been here, they would be dead now. _ She began to shake and tremble.

A gentle touch on her shoulder got her attention and stopped her shaking. She lifted her head and gazed into Anders’ eyes. A choked sob escaped from her as he sat down beside her and cuddled her close.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “We got him. He didn’t hurt your mother, and he’ll never hurt another woman again. He’s dead.”

“It’s not over yet,” she whispered. “The lair is full of... things....” She squeezed him and tried to control her shaking with another intake of breath. “But we’ll deal with that once we’re rested.”

Anders helped her to her feet, holding her close until she was no longer wobbling. He was trying to support and comfort her; this was obviously a very upsetting experience for her—and despite the tough front that she had put on, he also suspected that she was frightened of herself for using so much blood magic and, at last, that blood enslavement spell. He actually intended to have a talk with her about that as soon as he thought she was calmed down enough that it would not immediately spark defensive anger in her. But he was feeling very disturbed himself as well, and it was not only because of the shocking events themselves. He had had a terrible dream about two years ago— _the dream that I had the night she ordered me out of the house and we had that awful fight, _ he recalled—and among the many horrors of this dream had been a vision of Leandra Hawke dead and dismembered. They had averted that fate now... and perhaps, he tried to tell himself, it was just a random piece of Fade imagery, the sort of gore occasionally conjured up in bad dreams, rather than a prophetic vision.  _ But even if it was that, _ he thought, holding Caitlyn close,  _ it means we can change the future. It is not fixed. And that means that... other things in our dreams that have not happened are not fixed either. The Templars coming for Mal.... _

_ Knock, knock. _ Someone was outside the front door again. Caitlyn pulled away at once, tensing again and reaching for her staff. Anders and the others grabbed their weapons as well. The murderer had not said he had any accomplices in the hideout... but perhaps they were elsewhere. Caitlyn opened the door—revealing Gascard DuPuis.

Varric was instantly on high alert as the blond man gasped in shock at the bloody, mangled fragments of thawing flesh before him. “What is this—was this—”

“He came tonight to abduct my mother,” Caitlyn said, fixing the blood mage with a hard glare. “He left the lilies in advance. Thank you for that information, by the way. We were ready for him.”

“He is dead,” DuPuis said, stating the obvious as he stared at the remains of the man’s body.

“No kidding,” Varric growled. “Better him than another innocent... like your _sister,_ right?”

DuPuis blinked as he stared in disbelief and growing dismay at the sight before him on the floor.

“Why are you here?” Caitlyn said.

He looked up, his gaze hard. “Was this truly necessary?” he said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “I was going to track the woman you met last night, who was at my house, and now....”

“That’s not how blood magic works,” she replied. “If you’re trying to track her, you still can. And tracking her would _not_ lead you to _him—_ to our front door.” _Unless he killed her and was carrying—_ but she banished that unfinished thought. It was too vile to contemplate, and there was no way to verify it anymore anyway. The man’s body was destroyed beyond recognition along with anything that had been on it.

DuPuis swallowed hard, caught in the lie.

“Was your sister truly killed by this man?” she demanded. “Because you really aren’t acting like it.”

He hesitated for a moment, a gleam of anger passing through his eyes, and then he burst out angrily, “All right—so that was false! I never had a sister. He was a teacher of magic for me, a necromancer, but he—”

“Abandoned his apprentice,” Varric snarled. He raised Bianca. “And you want to follow in his esteemed footsteps.” He put a finger over the trigger.

“I didn’t ever want to do _this!”_ DuPuis exclaimed, putting his hands up. “Necromancy is a perfectly respectable school of magic in Tevinter and Nevarra and has nothing to do with murder!”

“Then let’s go to his lair right now,” Caitlyn said, a falsely sweet smile on her face, “and see what his actual _notes_ are about.”

“I’ll stay and guard the others, in case any more followers show up,” Varric said.

The others stormed out of the house, DuPuis frog-marched in front, Isabela’s daggers pointed at the nobleman’s back while Caitlyn and Anders kept their staves at the ready. Tonight, being seen by Templars was the last thing on her mind.

* * *

After a series of grueling fights against Fade creatures and possessed corpses—and a horrifying sight of a stitched-up corpse in a wedding dress, missing its head, set up beneath a painting of a woman whose face looked appallingly like Leandra’s—Caitlyn and her companions were piling the corpses and body parts. It was impossible to reunite the dismembered pieces of the bodies or identify any of the victims anymore, so she decided, miserably, that the only thing to do was to have a mass pyre. Standing back, she cast flames at them, feeling sick at the carnage. _All of this death,_ she thought, _so that a depraved monster could have an animated corpse to pretend was his dead wife. I have lost loved ones and I would never, ever consider something as vile as that. That is not what necromancy is about, either. It’s a perversion of its purpose. I don’t know much about it, but I do know that. And even if this man did spend some time in the Starkhaven Circle—he must have escaped long ago and gone incognito, to have been old and married—this cannot be blamed on the Templars or the Circle policies. This is pure evil that existed in his own mind. He wasn’t even an abomination._

She sat down and shook again. _My mother would have completed it. He would have—_ She broke off the thought.

To her disgust, Gascard DuPuis was almost indifferent to the pile of burning bodies. Instead he was poking around in the killer’s trove of notes and books, reading in fascination. It quickly became too much for her to watch. Rising to her feet, she glared at him.

“If he had taken my mother and killed her tonight, would you have told us?”

DuPuis gazed at the floor, not answering.

“Answer me.”

He sighed. “No. I would not have. I wanted to kill him myself and take his knowledge.”

“And now we’ve done your dirty work for you,” she replied, flexing her fists. “If you want to be a necromancer, why can’t you just go to Tevinter and learn it properly? Apprentice yourself to a magister who practices it as it is meant to be, rather than a monster like this? Or is it his _specialized_ knowledge that you really want to learn?”

“He... did some unique things, yes. Evil things, of course, but he tried to push the limits of necromancy. There was... a portrait in my house. I do not know if you noticed it. It belonged to a woman that I experimented on... when he refused to teach me.”

Anders stood up, and flashes of blue light began to crackle down his body.

“Experimented on,” Caitlyn repeated. “You know, I really don’t think you need to have those books or notes after all.”

DuPuis clutched the parcel he was carrying close to his chest and stared back at her. “How eager you are to judge,” he hissed. “You are a blood mage yourself. You said you learned where this place was by performing the blood slave spell, and you presume to judge me for wanting to learn arcane magic?”

“Leave the notes behind,” she said, ignoring his attack. “You can’t be trusted with them.”

He hesitated for another moment before barking out a bitter laugh and throwing the books to the floor. “Fine!” he exclaimed. “If it is the notes or my life, there is no choice, is there?”

“You admitted to experimenting on an innocent,” said Anders—but it was not quite Anders, she realized. The bluish-white spirit light was dancing across his skin, and Justice was popping in and out, flashing in his eyes but not seizing full control. His voice was strangely attenuated but not fully the spirit voice. “She must be avenged.”

_ Avenged? _ Caitlyn thought in sudden alarm. Perhaps this was not the Justice aspect after all.

“She didn’t die!” DuPuis exclaimed, his eyes now very wide at the menacing sight before him.

Caitlyn stepped forward, determined to end this before it spiraled. “Get out,” she ordered. “Leave Kirkwall. I don’t want you in this city. I won’t blame you for the deaths, but I don’t want to see your face around here again.”

Isabela raised her eyebrows at Caitlyn in surprise. “You’re letting him go?”

“I have no proof that he is directly responsible for anyone’s death,” she said. “Even the woman he was terrorizing last night wasn’t among the bodies here.” She gave the nobleman a dark, ironic glare. “And you know, I’ll admit something. Maybe I don’t have a right to judge you. Maybe I am a hypocrite for what I did tonight. But the difference between us is that I feel guilty about what I resorted to, and I’m afraid I will do it again in the future. I haven’t done it in over a year, but... it was very easy, tonight, and that concerns me. I don’t think you feel any concern whatever. That’s why I don’t trust you and don’t want you here. Go, before I change my mind.”

He did not need to be told twice. With a look of stark terror in his eyes, he darted from the foundry, his arms empty.

* * *

Later, after Isabela and Varric had finally returned to the Hanged Man, Caitlyn and Anders trudged upstairs to Mal’s bedroom. She let him take down the ward that was still there and opened the door.

Leandra and Mal were huddled quietly in a corner on Mal’s bed. He was reading aloud to his grandmother, his childlike voice very soothing. On the opposite side of the room, Orana was pouring a shot of liquor into a cup of tea—which was no longer steaming, so it was clearly lukewarm at best. That was no surprise given how long it had taken to settle the horrible business.

“You’re back,” Mal said, interrupting his story. He smiled weakly at his parents, quite sleepy.

They rushed toward the bed, climbing atop the mattress like children themselves and hugging both of them. “We’re back,” Caitlyn whispered, feeling tears come to her eyes. “We’re back and everyone is all right. Everyone is safe. The bad man is dead, Mal.”

He hugged his mother back. “Of course he is. You and Father are the best. You can do anything.”

_ I wish we could, _ she said.  _ Oh, I wish we could. _ She shared a pained glance with her own mother, and she knew that the older woman understood far too well.

* * *

“You saved her,” Caitlyn whispered as she clung to Anders in bed. It was extremely late; dawn was only a few hours away, and they were still having trouble getting to sleep. Even with every door—including the basement trapdoor—locked and heavily warded, and even with the knowledge that the murderer was dead and DuPuis was on his way out of town, they could not rest easily tonight. _What would have happened if he hadn’t been here,_ she thought, rubbing his back.

“Not by myself,” he replied gently. “I was here, so we were prepared, but it took all of us to bring him down. And you led us.”

She considered that. “I suppose I did. I don’t know that I made the right decision to let that man go free, though.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted, “but I don’t know that killing him would have been the right decision, either, if—as you said—you couldn’t prove that he had caused or intends to cause anyone’s death. I think you would have second-guessed yourself whatever you chose.”

She chuckled darkly. “Most likely so.”

“That’s the curse of being a leader. Not that I’m an expert in that,” he said with a smile.

She buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes. His words suddenly weighed on her, the full force of their meaning hitting her.  _ The curse of being a leader is second-guessing all the hard choices. Oh, Maker, what am I going to do? And I can’t really trust myself with knowledge and power.... _

“Anders,” she said urgently, lifting her head, “the blood magic. I....” She cast her gaze down, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what to say. At the time, it felt necessary—both the offensive spells and the mind spell—but I don’t know now. I got a kind of rush from doing it, from breaking that taboo, from having that power over another person—and that scares me.” She forced herself at last to meet his gaze and saw compassion in his brown eyes.

He was silent for a moment, considering what to say. In truth, he had noticed that himself when she was performing the spells, and it had been disturbing to him too. “You’re aware of it,” he finally said, “and that matters. Just... hold to that awareness. Think of this, of what it feels like now, when you’re tempted to use it again.” He sighed. “I had a slip too. In the foundry... well... that was Vengeance again.”

“I thought it might be,” she said quietly.

“He’s appearing more and more,” Anders said, his expression pained and uneasy. “It upsets me. I don’t want Justice to become this. It’s... wrong. It’s not who he is. And I know how to stop it as well, but... I’m losing control too. I just get angry so much these days, whenever I see evil—and there is _so much_ evil in this blasted city.” He scowled ahead. “We have lived in this house for over two years now. We have wealth and influence—and what has changed? That’s why I’m angrier about the same conditions that have existed since 9:31. It’s because I’m more frustrated.”

“We haven’t tried to wield that influence yet,” she said. “It’s coming, love. I promise it’s coming. Things _will_ change.” She considered for a moment. “Even tonight... that monster was a mage, of course, but what stopped him? Not to diminish what Varric and Isabela did, but it would have been much harder if we had not been there. Good magic... or... well... magic performed by good people,” she amended guiltily, “brought down an evil mage. That’s part of the point that we should make.”

He nodded. “I’ll have to think about how to word it, but maybe I should mention this in the _document.”_

She knew he meant his mage rights manifesto, and a smile formed on her face at that. “Yes,” she agreed, giving him a final hug. “You should.” She caressed his cheek. “Maker’s breath. I know you don’t want to take full credit to yourself, but... the fact that you were there when it counted saved Carver and now my mother.” She pulled him down on the pillows, trying at last to go to sleep.

“I made your father a promise right before he died,” Anders said in a whisper. He had never told her this, because he had felt that he had failed this promise, but now seemed to be the time for it. “I promised that I would let him die with dignity... that I would love you... and that I would protect his family.” He pulled her close as a muffled cry escaped her at this. “I always felt that I had failed in that last,” he said. “But....”

“But you didn’t,” she finished. “You didn’t have the chance with Bethany... and we’ll never know... but every time you _did_ have the opportunity, you protected us. And it’s your family now.”

“Yes,” he said, marveling at the words, still awed by them even though it had been true legally for two years and true in their hearts for longer than that. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw you Bioware.
> 
> Caitlyn has suffered enough, and it doesn’t serve a plot purpose for Leandra to die here—instead, as you see, there is a purpose for the lily killer to be thwarted instead! I am not actually against “fridging” if it’s equal opportunity gender-wise and illustrates something about the plot or setting, rather than just providing a reason for the protagonist to become angry at a single villain (which I guess would make it... not fridging). That’s why I kept certain other deaths that occur because of mage abuse, Karl’s in particular, Malcolm’s more indirectly in this AU; and Bethany charges the ogre as her own decision and goes down fighting. But the circumstances of Leandra’s death in the game are exceedingly gross to me for all kinds of reasons. A depraved serial killer who was wealthy enough to escape a Circle and live independently for years isn’t something that can be blamed on Templar pressures or policies, and if the game point of this is to give players a reason to side with Templars at the end, it's a shitty and awful reason, because the implicit argument is that it might be acceptable to oppress an entire group of people who are born that way, because of the very worst examples in said group.


	4. Red Fox and Silver Fox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my “hard limit on chapter length” is clearly about as “hard” as Caitlyn’s “red lines” on blood magic. I’m sorry. I’ll try to control this better.
> 
> Here begins the scheming in earnest. I am embellishing some things to make it more congruent with my own AU.
> 
> I am a neoliberal on foreign policy/human rights/national security and I think that’ll come out in this chapter. Generally I wouldn’t want to “go there” bringing up real-world political points of view, because this is just a story, but I wanted to give a heads up so that nobody mistakes the perspective I’m coming from for why Hawke feels the way she does.

“The _Viscount_ wishes to speak with me?” Caitlyn exclaimed in surprise.

Aveline nodded. “It’s about the Qunari, I understand. He did not give me all the details.”

Caitlyn sighed, closing her eyes. She hoped that Viscount Dumar was not going to ask her to negotiate with the Qunari about going back to Par Vollen. Her plan to achieve her ambitions depended on their continued presence for a while yet, so that Saemus Dumar could get further embroiled with them and discredit the standing Viscount that way. She supposed that if he were asking her to be an ambassador, she could undermine and sabotage negotiations, but then that would reflect poorly on her too, and she saw no way to escape it. She didn’t want bloodshed, but she  _did_ want to see the current leadership disgraced.  _But I have no choice right now,_ she thought.  _He wants to see me, so that’s that._

At the Viscount’s Keep, she quickly learned that the situation was even more exasperating than being a messenger for the very Viscount that she wanted to replace. Allegedly—Caitlyn had her doubts about this, but supposedly—the Arishok of the Qunari specifically wanted to meet with  _her_ about a security concern that had arisen. Why he would have troubled himself to deal with her rather than the designated leader of Kirkwall, however poor a leader Dumar was, she couldn’t say. As she headed home to tell Anders what she was going to do, another thought crossed her mind as well.

“I wonder if Elthina told the Arishok anything about you,” Anders said darkly after she had found him and explained the situation.

“That has occurred to me as well,” she agreed. “I’m going to try to find out what I can. If she did, he would have no reason to protect her. And from what I’ve seen of them, they are quite blunt about a lot of things.”

“They’re blunt about things they don’t care to hide,” he said. “They’ve been circumspect indeed about their reason for staying here. But you’re right; I can’t see any reason why the Arishok would care about keeping Elthina’s involvement secret from you. Unless she did it covertly, and he doesn’t know.”

_And if she did it at all, it was probably covert,_ Caitlyn realized, her heart sinking. Well—once again, there was no choice. At least she would get to take the Qunari leader’s measure herself.

* * *

Even though Aveline, Varric, and Fenris were beside her, fully armed, Caitlyn felt horribly exposed in the Qunari compound. The Qunari knew this place and she did not; if the Arishok decided that he could not talk with these “bas” after all and ordered them slain, she was not sure that she could defend them with magic. She was carrying a staff that resembled a two-handed waraxe if one did not look too closely, and she would certainly  _try,_ but this place was well-fortified, defensible, and the Qunari who manned it were trained soldiers.  _What in the everlasting Void was Dumar thinking?_ she thought in fury as she approached the Arishok, who sat on a throne-like seat.  _Not only did he allow a foreign head of state and part of his army to occupy Kirkwall without explaining their reason for being here, he gave them one of the best buildings in town from a military strategy standpoint! Idiot! Fucking idiot! And to think that he had his thugs send Fereldan refugees to be locked up in the Gallows. If I ever find out whose idea it was to do that to my people, I will personally drain every drop of blood from their body, promises about blood magic aside. And the Qunari ever use the advantage that Dumar has given them, the blood of Kirkwall is on Meredith Stannard’s hands for choosing that fool!_

Her thoughts continued to rage and storm against Dumar’s inexcusable dereliction of duty to his city, and by the time she was actually facing the horned Arishok, she would not have been surprised if it showed in every line of her face. The Arishok, at least, did not seem to care about her emotional state; he was apparently business-first and Caitlyn, despite her disapproval of the Qun and distrust of these people, respected that.

“You have changed your fortune over the years,” the Arishok said, eyeing her. “The Qunari have not.”

_Envy?_ Caitlyn thought wryly.  _They’ll never admit to that, but that sure sounds like it to me._ “You have not chosen to confide in anyone about your mission for being here—and yes, Arishok, I know you have a reason for being here.”

The large horns that framed his sculpted face were menacing and alien, and Caitlyn found herself wondering if the Qunari often used that to their advantage when dealing with other people. Those horns would be a distraction, perhaps a great enough one that others could not focus on their facial expressions. On the other hand, his face  _was_ expressionless right now.

“Our mission does not concern _bas._ It would be a disgrace for any not of the Qun to be involved.”

Caitlyn tried to control her temper.  _The structure is a fortress,_ she reminded herself,  _we’re surrounded by heavily armed and trained Qunari soldiers, and I have a child, a husband, a mother, and a brother who love me. I have brought my friends along too. Think about them. This won’t end well if I blow up now._ “If the Qun says that it is a disgrace to ask for help when you need it, then your fortunes may remain as they are indefinitely,” she said coolly. “But that is not why I am here, I presume.”

“It is not. I offer a courtesy, Hawke. Someone has stolen what he thinks is the formula for gaatlok.”

“The explosive black powder,” Caitlyn said, recalling the term. “I take it that what he stole is something else.” She eyed him dubiously. “How many formulae for weapons of mass destruction do you _have,_ anyway?”

“More than _we_ do, please remember,” Varric muttered pointedly to her under his breath, giving her a sharp look.

The Arishok clearly overheard Varric’s warning. He paused for a second, letting Varric’s words sink in, before continuing. “The stolen formula was a decoy.  _Saar-qamek,_ a poison gas. A small amount is dangerous enough to your kind, but made in quantity.... It is not a threat to qunari. For your kind, it is as dangerous as those who breathe it.”

Caitlyn clutched her staff in increasing anger as the words sank in. “A decoy,” she repeated. “A poison gas that messes with people’s minds. So, as I understand it, you deliberately gave this instead of the gaatlok formula to somebody, and now you want  _me_ to track this person down to prevent carnage. Have I got that right?”

“It is no longer our problem,” he said dismissively. “Is it our fault if another chooses to create the gas? That merchant, Javaris. He has it. The results of refusing to stop him will be thousands of deaths.”

Caitlyn recalled a shady, rather pitiful dwarven merchant with whom she had dealt before, three years ago, while she was doing jobs to earn coin.

“And why did you want _me_ to do this?” she said.

“I don’t call anyone in Kirkwall an ally, or even a good rival. But you have shown competence. I respect that.”

In spite of her growing fury that she was being asked to deal with the results of others’ greed and selfish indifference—including the very person to whom she was speaking—she could not but agree. “Well, I suppose that does explain why you didn’t want to deal with Viscount Dumar in this,” she cracked.

“The day comes when the Qun will demand an accounting. Until then, I will show respect to the most promising among you.”

Aveline tensed at these words, and so did Caitlyn. A chill shot quickly down her back.  _That is a threat if I ever heard one,_ she thought, suddenly very eager to leave this place.  _He means to take over Kirkwall someday if he thinks that the Qun has left him with no other choice—and he does not mind confiding that to me. Does he think I might convert to his side, and that’s why he told me that? He doesn’t know I am a mage, then. Oh, Maker. My entire plan just got far more complicated._

* * *

Varric was confident that the dwarven merchant could be found in a Coterie hideout in Darktown. Following an increasingly exasperating chase through numerous organized-crime hideouts—Caitlyn made mental notes to herself to station guards at all these places if she ever became Viscountess, to prevent this sort of thing from occurring again—she finally found the fugitive merchant. To her surprise, he claimed that he did  _not_ have the formula—that, in fact, an elf had it, and had set him up to appear the guilty party.

Caitlyn did not want to turn him over to the crime guilds that were after him for coin he owed them, let alone the Qunari. When she told him to take himself out of town while he had this respite, she noted with wry amusement that this seemed to be the first time that Aveline did not disagree with her decision to let a shady character go free.

But at the same time, she was growing increasingly suspicious that this was a set-up for  _her_ as well. If somebody knew that she had worked with Javaris once before but that Javaris was not the thief, but that person had led the Qunari to believe that he was, the result of such a scheme could be a horrible choice forced on her: Kill Javaris despite his innocence, or make an enemy of the Arishok, and possibly the Viscount as well if the thief of the formula succeeded in making the gas.  _And either way, I will look incompetent,_ she realized,  _which is undoubtedly the real point. I have to find this elf and stop this at once. This entire scheme stinks of Elthina playing the Game against me, and I have to checkmate her if it is._

* * *

Upon their return to the city, she stopped by the alienage for Merrill, who she hoped might know something about this. The elven population was close-knit, and she hoped that Merrill was doing what she had urged her to do and acting as “Keeper” of the alienage.

To her disappointment, Merrill was holed up in her house with that blasted Dalish mirror that she had made a deal with a demon to try to fix. Caitlyn tried to swallow her irritation. “I do know about elves who are converting to the Qun,” Merrill said earnestly. “There have been several who have become disgusted with their lives here and have defected.”

“Merrill,” Caitlyn said in as patient a tone as she could manage, “I understand why they feel that their circumstances are hopeless, but don’t they know that there is a Dalish clan just outside the city that surely would be glad to have them? They wouldn’t have to give up nearly as much if they joined it. Don’t they realize that is an option if they want to leave the alienage? And don’t they know that the Qun would make them give up their families?”

“I don’t know,” Merrill said, eyes wide. “Have I done something wrong? I am sorry if I have.”

Caitlyn sighed, rubbing her forehead. “No, it’s not your fault.  _I_ am sorry if I let you think I believed that it was.” She paused. “Would you assist me in dealing with this rogue elf who has the Qunari poison gas?”

“Oh, yes,” Merrill said eagerly, getting to her feet and grabbing her staff.

* * *

The elf had already created the gas, as they discovered once they returned to Lowtown proper. She had formulated it and already had several barrels, which had started to leak out. After Caitlyn closed them, the elf emerged from a building, her eyes wide with fury.

“You side with the Qunari!” the elf snarled, hefting her two-handed sword. _“You!_ I know who you are, human. You have a child! How could you? And you, elf—you were Dalish! I see the markings on your face. You too?”

Merrill’s features contorted in indignation, but it was Caitlyn who spoke first. “Merrill  _is_ Dalish. She lives in the alienage, but she holds to Dalish tradition. We do  _not_ side with the Qunari,” she said harshly. “I want them back in their islands as much as you possibly could, if not more! I am here to prevent  _you_ from killing dozens with this weapon of theirs!”

The wild-eyed fanatic appeared to be already under the influence of the gas, Caitlyn realized, as she yelled again. “Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture, then go to the Qun for purpose. We’re losing them twice!”

Despite the increasing hopelessness of this, Caitlyn tried to talk her down. “I agree with you,” she said, trying to project a calming tone. “I understand. But this isn’t the answer!”

The woman scoffed. “I think it is.  _Your_ people, humans, have joined with me. We planned to take the Qunari thunder, to take their poison gas, to create some ‘accidents’ and make them hated!”

A cold chill shot down Caitlyn’s back. “Wait.  _Humans_ put you up to this?”

“I joined their side! I was put up to it by no one. We all agreed!”

“Who were these humans?” Caitlyn said, anger and harshness in her words. “Was there a Templar or a Chantry priest among them?” _If so, I’m going to have some words with them for not telling me about this,_ she thought icily.

“No priest,” the elf replied, and Caitlyn felt a slight touch of relief. “No Templar. They aren’t interested in the poor of Kirkwall either.” She spat on the ground. “And they care nothing about _my_ people.”

_I really do need to talk with Petrice,_ she thought,  _and take control of this situation. This is already getting out of hand!_

“This is not the answer,” Caitlyn repeated. “Kirkwall has failed many, but the Qun is not the solution to what is missing in their lives, that I do agree with. But neither is lowering ourselves to this kind of violence. You’re hurting the cause.”

The elf snarled in fury and attacked. She was a very good warrior, and Caitlyn rather hated having to kill her even though she was a murderous fanatic. A fighter like this, who had the muscle to wield such a big blade, would have been greatly valued by Merrill’s old clan...  _but probably not after creating this poison gas and letting it loose,_ she thought.

“I can’t use that blade,” Caitlyn said once the fanatic lay dead on the ground. “Fenris, Aveline, you two sort out who should have it.”

Fenris had been almost completely silent throughout this entire sequence of events, beginning with the meeting with the Arishok. His brow was furrowed deeply with concern. “Years ago, a group of Qunari helped me,” he said in a low voice. “I am ashamed of what I did at last... and I have been sympathetic to their people because they are the enemy of Tevinter... but the Arishok is wrong. People have died because of this. If they could have stopped that formula from leaving their compound, and deliberately chose not to, blood is on their hands. I thought them more honorable than that.”

There was a silence among the group as they contemplated what had happened. At last Aveline turned to him, holding the fallen elf’s blade. “I use sword and shield. My guards who use greatswords are all equipped, and it’s the city’s responsibility to take care of them. You can have this if you want it.”

He picked up the blade and tried it out, swinging it in the air. “It’s a good blade. I will keep it to remember that there are no easy answers to hard questions... and no true innocents.”

On that dark note, they all left.

* * *

Caitlyn wanted to go home and hug her family, but she knew that she had yet another person to talk to. Even if Petrice was not involved with the group of humans that had talked with the dead elven fanatic, the fact that such a group existed at all meant that it was already past time for the priest to take a leadership role, rather than letting the strongest opposition to the Qunari become violent and underhanded like this.  _And it’s past time for me to start positioning myself as a leader too,_ she realized with a pang.  _I thought I had planned for this for almost three years... and it still sneaked up on me._

The priest was surprised to see her, but did not object to the consultation when Caitlyn appeared in her office in the Chantry. “What brings you here?” she inquired.

Caitlyn gave Petrice a hard look. “I  _hope_ that you and Varnell were not involved in what I am about to describe. I don’t think you were, but if you were... I am  _prepared_ to forgive it if you assure me that you won’t do anything else without consulting with me first.”

Petrice glowered across her desk. “What are you talking about? I thought we were on a level of trust beyond making vague accusations, Serah Hawke.”

Caitlyn realized that she had been too confrontational. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “That wasn’t how I meant to begin. Let me start over.” She managed a self-deprecating smile and then launched into a narrative of what had just unfolded.

“So the elf told us, and she had no reason to lie, that there was _not_ a priest involved with this group of humans, nor a Templar. Did you know about it in advance? If you did, just tell me.”

“I truly did not, Hawke. I knew that there was discontent rising, but I did not know that this group had organized and was planning in secret. Things have gotten out of hand, since this is the case.”

Caitlyn let out her breath. “That’s exactly how I see it,” she agreed, “and I was thinking that it meant... well... that our moment is here.”

“Yes, it is. It is time for us to seize the mantle of leadership and speak against the Qun to the people, rather than letting lunatics do things like this. If the truth gets out about these actions, it would only make the Qun seem sympathetic.” She smiled darkly. “Of course, it does make it easier that there is already a group of discontented and angry people. They just need leaders and a proper focus for their anger.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is time... and something else crossed my mind when I met the Arishok. Do you think that the Grand Cleric could somehow be involved in this by planting the idea that I was the only person that the Arishok could consult with, rather than an official? I got the impression that the point was to make me look incompetent... or perhaps even to drive a wedge between you and me, by making it appear to you that I was helping the Arishok and the present leadership of Kirkwall.” On the way to the Chantry, she had had that realization too, which had crossed her mind after the elf had revealed the existence of the group of human fanatics and she herself had wondered if Petrice or Varnell had been aware of them.

Petrice considered that. “It’s the sort of thing that she would do, and had you not talked with me about this, I admit I would have wondered why you didn’t. I did warn you that she would scheme against you.”

“I remember.”

The priest rose from her seat. “You and I will be talking a great deal more in weeks to come, I expect. It’s best if we have a meeting place other than the Chantry, as I’m sure you understand. What say you to the old house in Lowtown across the street from your uncle?”

Caitlyn grimaced inwardly, but this suggestion made sense. “It works,” she said. “I would always have the excuse of visiting my uncle, after all.”

“Yes.” She paused again before adding, “You should begin to court allies in Hightown who are displeased with Dumar. I will organize a rally in Lowtown soon... in the marketplace, as that is where people gather. And I assure you, Varnell and I will find out who are the people responsible for the elf’s plot, and such a thing will _not_ happen again. He is even more aggressively anti-Qun than I am, in some ways. I think he would do well to lead this group of renegades... but don’t worry, Hawke, he will control them and make sure that anything they do in the future is done against the Qunari, not the people of Kirkwall.”

_I really hope it doesn’t come to that,_ she thought...  _but I suppose it might. The Arishok himself hinted that it might. If they attack, there need to be people who are ready to fight back. I will do what I can to keep the violence to a minimum. I am doing all this for my family and for mages, to have the power to do something about the Kirkwall Circle and get rid of Meredith Stannard and maybe even influence Chantry policy from Val Royeaux, since Leliana’s priest is now the Divine... but I don’t want these changes to come with a blood price._ She recalled the dream that she’d had a year ago, the night before she and her friends set out to defeat Corypheus. The diadem of Kirkwall—she was sure that was what it was—had dripped with blood, and she had left a path of bloody footprints behind her in the Fade.  _It was only a dream. Anders and I have had several dreams about things that haven’t come to pass._

But as Caitlyn left the Chantry, she realized that it was time to tell her friends about her ambition. Anders and Varric knew, and she suspected that Aveline also had guessed, but it was time for everyone to know about it.

* * *

Caitlyn returned home to find Anders and Mal waiting for her in the family parlor. Anders was holding a letter.

“This came while you were out,” he explained, passing it to her. “It wasn’t sealed. I’m sorry....”

“And you read it,” she said with a wry smile. “I don’t mind. I don’t have any correspondents that I need to conceal from you, love.” She accepted the note from him and read it quickly, then glanced up at him in alarm. “I remember this man, Feynriel. What do you think is going on? Nightmares, his mother says.... You know more about the Fade than I do.”

“I have some thoughts,” he said. “We should go, though. And... I thought that this might be all right for Mal to see.”

“But—” she began to object.

Anders shook his head. “He’s a mage, love. He is young, but he is already casting spells. You can’t ‘protect’ him from the Fade’s influence. He’ll have to learn how to navigate the risks someday. Whatever is happening to Feynriel is related to the Fade, and it seems that this is a good opportunity to show Mal some Fade magic... and hopefully a  _safe_ one.”

“You’re very confident,” she said. “All right. You have a point.” She gazed at her son, who was smiling, eagerness burning in his hazel eyes. “I know I can’t keep him from the realities of being a mage, and it would be wrong of me to try. I was going to call everyone to a meeting tonight, but let’s do this first.”

* * *

It seemed that the entire population of the alienage was outside that night, gathered around the vhenadahl tree in the green clearing. Keeper Marethari passed inside, the elves nodding and gazing at her with great respect as she approached the tree. Merrill too had emerged from her house, and she watched with profound sadness in her eyes as her old mentor drew near. When the elderly woman reached the center of the green where Caitlyn, her family, Merrill, and Feynriel’s elven mother were, Merrill cast her gaze unhappily at the ground, unable to even look Marethari in the eye.

“Feynriel is something rare,” Marethari said. “Something that we no longer know how to train, even among the Dalish, and certainly in the Circles of the southern human lands. The magic he possesses makes him what the Tevinters called _somniari,_ a dreamer. They can enter the Fade at will, and they can shape dreams and affect the world beyond the Veil. This makes them very attractive to demons—but they are mostly too frail to survive a demon’s possession. A dreamer-abomination would be nearly unstoppable. The elves of the Dales had this knowledge, and I have done my best to recreate an ancient Dalish ritual....” She glanced at Feynriel’s mother. “I must speak with these mages alone.”

The elven woman drew back, leaving Caitlyn and her group with Marethari and no one else able to hear them. “Feynriel  _cannot_ become an abomination, no matter what. If you fail to save him from the demons’ influence, you must slay him in the Fade. A death in the Fade will make him what your Circle calls ‘Tranquil.’ He will be no threat after.” She glanced sorrowfully at Mal, whose eyes were wide with shock. “I wish that you had not brought your child to hear this.”

Anders was staring at the elven woman in utter horror—and growing anger.  _“What?”_ he exclaimed. “You can’t possibly expect—how can you  _ask_ that of us? Of  _me?”_ He pulled his son close, as if guarding Mal against the elven woman. Caitlyn was not certain, but she thought she saw a flicker of the spirit of Justice behind his eyes as he glared at Marethari.

“I hope it does not come to that,” said Marethari, “but a dreamer-abomination would cause unimaginable destruction.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath. “I understand.” Anders gazed at her in shock and betrayal, his mouth falling open, and Merrill too glanced at her in surprise. Feeling horrible, she continued, hoping that what she said next would calm them. “We have a moral objection to the Rite of Tranquility, Keeper. It creates empty, emotionless slaves. No one should... exist... that way. I can’t call it ‘living.’ If this should become necessary, I want  _your_ word that you will do what is necessary  _here,_ right after we return from the Fade.”

Marethari sighed and nodded once in assent. “Very well. I must ask that your son not enter the Fade. It is dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t have brought him if I thought that....” Anders trailed off.

“It’s all right, Father,” Mal spoke up. “I know that you, Mamma, and Merrill can do it. It’s fine. I know magic can be dangerous. I’m a mage myself and I’m older now.” It was amusing to hear that claim from a six-year-old, or would have been amusing if the circumstances were not so dire. He was visibly frightened, clearly understanding rather a lot of what the Keeper had been saying, but he was still courageous and confident in his parents, and it gave Caitlyn a needed boost to her own confidence.

The elderly Keeper smiled sadly. “Then let us begin the ritual.” She led the way into the house of Feynriel’s mother.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, Caitlyn and Anders—who had been taken over completely by Justice once in the Fade—reemerged into the physical world along with the awakened Feynriel, who had vowed to go to Tevinter to learn from mages who still had the knowledge of this magic. Caitlyn had been rather comforted by the spirit of Justice while she had been in the middle of the dream-world, and the fact that the dreamer mage himself had not reacted negatively to Justice even though he had rejected the demons that were trying to possess him made her more confident in the spirit and in Anders’ current level of control over it. Lately he had been very afraid that Justice was becoming Vengeance more and more, but this was confidence-inspiring, and she was glad of Justice’s company—especially when Merrill  _did_ fall prey to the words of a pride demon that suggested she could restore the glory of ancient Elvhenan.

Merrill was thoroughly ashamed of herself for betraying Caitlyn and making her friends fight her in the Fade, but strangely, the experience had given her the urge to finally face Keeper Marethari after they had returned. Beneath the layer of shame, a steely resolve had appeared in her face that Caitlyn had not seen in a long time.

“Merrill,” Marethari began to say.

“I failed,” Merrill said plainly. “I failed my friends, and I failed you.”

Caitlyn and Anders were silent. They eased into the shadows. Anders tapped her shoulder and whispered, “Mal is in the back room with Feynriel’s mother. I’ll go to him.” She nodded in reply, still watching, transfixed, as Merrill spoke to Marethari.

“You recognize your failure,” said Marethari in gentle tones. “That is the first step. The second is to learn from it.”

Merrill took a deep breath. “They have no Keeper here,” she said. “They have a hahren but no Keeper. I have kept to myself here, trying to repair the eluvian, but after what happened....” She broke off, shaking her head. “It was another pride demon, speaking to me about the lost grandeur of our people. And I turned against my friends.” She noticed that Caitlyn remained, then squared up her shoulders. “Our people are turning to the Qun, or to violence, because they feel abandoned. Hawke said it wasn’t my fault, but it is. They respected you when you came to the alienage tonight. Even though most of them do not follow the old ways, they respect a Keeper. I will try to be that.”

* * *

Caitlyn and Anders were both far too tired that night to have a meeting with their friends about the Qunari and Caitlyn’s plans, and Mal was silent on the walk back to Hightown. Leandra and the cat and dog greeted them at the door, and the smell of food wafted through the house, but after the much-needed and very late dinner, they realized that they needed to talk with him about what he had seen and heard that night.

“Mal,” Caitlyn said, sitting down on the divan next to him. He was seated between her and Anders, both of whom were leaning towards him in earnest concern. “You know that everything turned out all right tonight, don’t you? The man that your father and I went into the Fade to save is fine, and he’s going to study his special magical talent now.”

Mal nodded. “I knew you could do it. Is Merrill all right too? I didn’t see her afterward.”

“She is fine. She just wanted to be alone. Everything is all right, Mal... and whatever you heard tonight, however scary it was, I want you to know that you can tell us about anything frightening that you see in the Fade.” She gazed at him, forcing a smile on her face. “You _should_ tell us. We’ve been in the Fade a lot more than you have, because we are older, and we can tell you what to do. Please don’t let the events you saw tonight frighten you from telling us if you see anything in your dreams that disturbs you.”

“That’s right,” Anders added, placing an arm gently around his son. “You heard the old lady elf telling us some scary things... but she only said that because the man we went into the Fade to help was in a very, very bad place due to everyone waiting too long to help him.” That was not exactly true, but Mal didn’t need to know that. Justice had been in control in the Fade, which had prevented Anders from having to think too hard about the events of that night, but he certainly was now, and it was utterly horrifying to consider these events in relation to Mal. Anders was determined more than ever to protect his son from the dangers of the Fade, and Mal was extremely magically talented—just as Feynriel was. Anders rather hoped that Mal was _not_ talented in the same _way,_ but the mere possibility was too dire to ignore. “If you see anything in your dreams that doesn’t seem right, _please,_ let us know. We’ll help you.”

“I know,” the little boy said. “It’s all right, though! I know that sometimes the things we see in dreams are demons. I just don’t listen to any of them.”

“You’re doing exactly right,” Caitlyn assured him. “Good for you.” _The ones who would bother a child know they’re not strong enough to entice an adult mage, and the ones who are strong enough would want more than a child, even a precocious mage child, could give them, so he’s safe from them... but someday he will encounter those, and I suppose that this is good practice for when that day comes. I wish I could prevent it from coming... but the only way to do that is evil beyond imagining. He’ll just have to grow up and grow into his magic... just as Anders and I did. I’m sure my father was nervous too when I first showed magic. He believed in me and taught me well, and now, it is my turn. At least I’m not alone in teaching my child about magic, as my father was._ She gave Mal a final hug of the night and gazed over his head to meet Anders’ eyes. They were shining with warmth and love.

* * *

Caitlyn managed to get in touch with all of her friends early the next morning, and the meeting was that night. She had run over the words in her mind before their arrival, practicing in her thoughts. She did not have every sentence planned out, but there were some parts that she knew she needed to be prepared for, and she also knew that there were some friends—she was thinking of Fenris in particular—who would need extra convincing.

“I just don’t understand why this is so important to you,” Aveline said after she acknowledged her alliance with Petrice and gave them warning that the priest and Templar would be holding public rallies in Lowtown soon. “I’m not fond of these Qunari either, but they keep to themselves. They haven’t bothered you either... that I know of. Why ally with that woman?”

Caitlyn took a deep breath. She had rehearsed this in her mind, though she was still not as confident as she would have liked about how to say it. The time had come, though, to tell all of her friends exactly what was going on. “It’s true that she cares a lot more about the Qunari than I do,” she said. “And I will be honest: If I believed that they were intending to settle in Kirkwall, living their lives as they saw fit and _leaving everyone else to do the same,_ I would want to leave them be.”

“So you don’t believe that,” Aveline said.

“I don’t. For one, they have a head of state with them—and he’s not exiled, disgraced, deposed, or anything of the sort; he is their _current_ military leader. There is no way that a government would not seek to recover one of its top three leaders who was stranded in foreign territory—unless his presence here was part of a mission. He admitted it himself. You were there.”

Merrill’s eyes widened as she took this in. It appeared that she was the only one who had not made that connection, however; all the others in the group seemed to have worked it out for themselves. Caitlyn continued. “But there is more to it. Since they first landed in Kirkwall, I studied up on the Qun—through my own reading, and also by asking Fenris about it”—she gave the elf a courteous nod of acknowledgment—“and what I found was that ‘live and let live’ is utterly incompatible with it, so far as we know.”

Aveline frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not a religion, exactly,” Caitlyn explained. “At least, not as we all understand that. It’s a plan to minutely order every aspect of life for a whole society, and apparently—from what I understand—it doesn’t even make sense to be practiced alone. It’s inherently about finding one’s place—or being _told_ one’s place—as part of a collective. The Qun is not about believing in this or that deity, or doing a ritual, or following a few rules of behavior but being able to set the course of one’s overall life. It’s all-encompassing, and it’s literally not possible to ‘practice the Qun’ in isolation, unlike the religions we know about. You _have_ to join their society if you convert, or else you can’t fulfill the demands of the Qun.”

“So there is a demand in the Qun to conquer,” Aveline guessed.

“I don’t know what term is used, exactly,” said Caitlyn, “but as I understand it—in essence, yes. And given what he said yesterday about ‘the Qun demanding an accounting,’ well, you can figure it out.”

Anders spoke up. “I have my own reasons to dislike the Qun,” he said. “It’s horrible to mages, even worse than Circles in some ways. I still think that the  _worst_ thing the Circles do is worse than the worst thing the Qunari do to mages, but... as hard as it is for me to acknowledge... the average Circle mage is much better off than a Qunari mage. And as Cait says, the Qunari nation orders every aspect of life for its people. Who wants that? And apparently you can’t have families....”

“You can’t,” Caitlyn confirmed. “In Par Vollen, children are ‘bred’ and raised by the state. _Women_ are used for breeding as the state orders... and men too, I suppose. And romantic relationships evidently have to be kept secret, because that’s not encouraged either.”

“And that’s appalling and horrific,” Anders said emphatically. “But....” He grimaced guiltily. “I don’t mean to question and undermine you, Cait, but how exactly is the Qun’s demand to conquer any different from the Chantry’s call to convert all the world?”

She was prepared for that. “The Chantry—at the moment—doesn’t convert at swordpoint, and it doesn’t shove nonbelievers’ faces into chemical brews to control their minds either. Yes, Anders, there’s the Rite of Tranquility,” she said as soon as she saw his lips part in objection. “And I agree it’s much the same thing, and that’s why we’re going to see it banned when we have power.”

The rest of the group—minus Varric, who somehow already knew—stared at her in surprise. She felt relieved that part of the secret was finally out, however, and continued, emboldened and encouraged.

“But the other thing is that there is nothing in the Chant of Light that _requires_ forced conversion or Circles,” she said. “Every Exalted March, every Circle policy was a decision made by Divines later. In the founding text, there’s a call to spread the message, to sing the Chant in every corner of the world, but that doesn’t require conquest or blood. There’s not a word about Circles or the Rite of Tranquility. The original texts don’t give rulers the kind of power that the Qunari rulers have over their people either, and an individual _can_ practice Andrastianism even when others don’t, because it is fundamentally about private beliefs and behavior. That’s true for everything I can think of, actually, _except_ the Qun. Everyone in this room, right here, can decide to believe in Andraste and the Maker”—she nodded to Aveline and, more hesitantly, to Fenris—“or just the Maker”—a smile at Anders—

“Or something like the Black Chantry’s beliefs,” he corrected wryly.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows at him in surprise and interest; she had had hints of that from him before, but she didn’t realize that his interest in the Tevinter Chantry was that pronounced. “As you say,” she agreed. “That actually helps my point too! You can believe that, and Merrill can believe in the Dalish Creators, and Varric can revere his ancestors and the Stone—”

“Whoa, Hawke, don’t look at me,” Varric protested good-naturedly, holding up his hands. “I don’t go for that Stone stuff. And Orzammar is, uh, maybe not the best example of a free way of life.”

She chuckled and shook her head in mildly exasperated amusement. “I’ve heard a little about Orzammar, but that’s also the result of political decisions. You  _could_ follow that... faith... if you wanted, without having to join a caste in Orzammar. Or any of us—or all of us—could believe in nothing, and whatever we believed or didn’t, it wouldn’t matter except to us and those we’re closest to. Kirkwall would go on, because—with the notable exception of the Circle—Kirkwall’s laws are not based on the rules of any religion. It’s a private, personal matter. The Qunari government and the Qun are, so far as we know, inseparable.”

They considered that for several moments. Then Aveline spoke again. “So far as we know,” she repeated. “You’ve talked about how a lot of what goes on is just tradition or orders made by past Divines, not something written in the Chant of Light, so those things would be easier to change. How do we know that the Qunari government—Qunari society in Par Vollen—isn’t the same way?”

Caitlyn considered that seriously. “I guess we don’t,” she admitted. “No one has seen the founding text of the Qunari, the Tome... whatever it’s called.”

“The Tome of Koslun,” said Fenris.

Next to him, Isabela suddenly choked on her drink. She looked down at her lap, her face turning pink, as Merrill thumped her hard on the back.

“Are you all right?” Caitlyn asked.

The pirate hacked out a final cough and nodded, clearing her throat. “I’m fine. Sorry.”

Caitlyn felt that something was slightly off; it was unlike Isabela to apologize so succinctly and without any sort of wry wit or joke involved, but she could not put her finger on why that bothered her. In any case, she didn’t want to interrupt this discussion—because she had not even gotten to the main point, and she was sure that when she did, there would be plenty of discussion about  _that._ “All right, then. As we were saying, nobody knows exactly what is in the Tome of Koslun.”

“The Qunari don’t know their own philosophy?” Merrill said in surprise.

“They know portions,” Fenris said. “Whatever is most applicable to their station in life. But no, I don’t think any of them know _all_ of it except perhaps those at the very top. And the Tome of Koslun is a secret of their culture. If their archenemies, the Tevinters, got hold of it....” He trailed off darkly.

“So we don’t know whether the Qun’s founding text _really does_ call for what their society and state do, I suppose,” Caitlyn acknowledged, “but since it _is_ a secret, and we don’t _know_ if it’s possible to be a ‘faithful’ Qunari in a private, individual way, we can’t assume that it is. And they certainly don’t live as though it is.” She paused before adding, “If it were possible, I would want to leave them be. As a mage, I just want people to have the freedom to live as they choose. But that doesn’t seem to be how it works under the Qun... and that’s why I am not comfortable with an armed force of Qunari, headed by their highest military leader, occupying Kirkwall.”

They all contemplated that, until Fenris spoke again. “And that is why you have allied with this priest, this Mother Petrice. I confess, Hawke, I did not realize that the Qunari were this important to you. You have asked me about them, but I have not heard you mention them much outside of that.”

She chuckled sheepishly. “Well... all right... they’re  _not_ as important to me as they are to her—the priest. I don’t agree with much in the Qun—as they practice it—and I’m not comfortable with their presence here, but it’s true that this is not the most important issue in Kirkwall to me personally.”

Anders and Varric smirked knowingly at each other, having been told the truth already.

“Then—” the male elf began to ask.

Caitlyn took a deep breath. “This is why I wanted all of you to come today. I need to be honest with you about what I’m trying to do, because you are my friends, and you have the right to decide for yourselves if you want to be a part of it. I won’t hold it against you if you want to stay out of it, but you still deserve to know. The fact is....” She steeled herself. “I have aligned with Petrice because she wants to be Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, replacing Elthina, and I want that too because  _my_ ambition is to get Viscount Dumar to resign and to replace him myself. And I would need a powerful ally in the Chantry for that to be possible. And... yes, Fenris... the main reason I want to do this is because I want to reform the Circles. At least,  _this_ Circle. Petrice is extremely zealous against the Qun, but she’s moderate about mages. Maybe more than moderate.”

Fenris was gazing stonily at her as she explained her ambition and her rationale for it. Caitlyn was afraid of this reaction; he had, after all, been “owned” by a magister in a country where mages had all the political power in every institution, the Chantry included. She knew he was not going to take this without at least some resistance. She just hoped he understood that she was not like the Tevinters and had no intention of acting in any way like them.

“I want to protect my family, Fenris,” she said. “My family and friends... and other good mages. We _do_ exist. Anders and I don’t want to be torn from each other again. We don’t want our son taken from us. We can raise him and teach him how to control his magic and use it safely. We _should_ have the right to do that openly and without fear.” Her voice was becoming very emotional, she realized; it was thickening and becoming deeper. Noticing this, Anders moved closer to her. He draped one arm around her back and took her hand with his other, rubbing her palm and the back of her hand soothingly. All of his attention was devoted to her; none of it was hostility toward Fenris, and she was grateful for that too. She gave him a tender, watery-eyed smile and continued.

“I don’t want to do _anything_ like what you suffered through. I don’t want to make Kirkwall back into Emerius. What happened to you is horrible, and your experiences are important, Fenris... but so are mine.” She gazed beseechingly at him, observing that his visage was softening as she spoke. “My father and sister never hurt anyone. He raised us and taught us himself... he taught Anders a bit too... and Anders and I just want to do the same, and we want other mages to have that chance too. And when mage children don’t have anyone who can train them, there is a place for a school like the Circle... but it doesn’t have to be _this_ way, families separated for life, people locked indoors, kept from helping others or living normal lives, and children growing up in terror of being killed or turned into emotionless puppets.”

Fenris sighed heavily. “I will likely always fear magic,” he confessed, “but you are different from the mages I knew in Tevinter. You have been... a friend to me, the first mage I’ve known who has treated me as an equal. And it would have been hard to fight against the Qunari... until I learned that they knowingly allowed a weapon of mass destruction, as you put it, to escape their compound because they apparently believed the ‘bas’ were too incompetent to actually make it.” He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling for a moment, before sitting upright again and gazing out at his friends. “Years ago, a small group of Qunari... hosted me. They took care of me, and I killed them, because I was what Danarius had made me. I have felt guilty about that ever since.”

“I didn’t know,” Caitlyn said in a whisper. She felt a gentle touch around her waist as Anders wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

“It’s true. This is the true evil of the magisters’ slavery, Hawke—I had no reason to do it, but I did what I knew he would have wanted me to do. I’ve hated myself for it ever since. And yet... later, I learned more about the Qun, and I realized that it too takes away freedom.”

She nodded. “I don’t want to become Viscountess for power, Fenris—not really. Not power for its own sake, or power to oppress. I want to do it for the sake of freedom.”

“I can respect and support that,” he said, the ghost of a smile forming on his face.

* * *

_A few days later._

Caitlyn stood in the back of the crowd that had gathered in the Lowtown marketplace. She clutched Anders’ hand as he tried to distract Mal, but it was almost impossible.

“They have seated themselves in _our_ city, occupying an extremely well-fortified building the likes of which so few of _us_ could ever dream to live in—freely gifted to their Arishok by the Viscount!” proclaimed Petrice, her voice carrying across the crowd, which roared in indignation in response, exactly as she had intended.

“Wasn’t that the same Viscount that the Knight-Commander wanted?” said someone at the front of the crowd loudly.

Petrice paused for a moment to let the group hear and contemplate it. “It is true,” she said. “And a terrible shame it is that she commands a force of armed, trained warriors, but will not authorize them to fight the Qunari. Why, I do not know. But there are those among us who approve of the Qunari, perhaps in part because of how they treat the mages among their race. Perhaps some among us would try to do the same!”

_Just nail the flag to the mast, why don’t you?_ Caitlyn thought as she listened to this. Petrice was flirting dangerously with open sedition. She knew the woman was incapable of subtlety, but she hoped that this did not blow up in Petrice’s face—and thereby hers.

“But none who truly know about the Qun should support it!” she continued, her voice rising again as she raised a clenched fist in the air. “I do not believe that those who seek to convert do so with the full knowledge of what they are doing. The Qunari offer freedom but deliver chains. Our fine Captain of the Guard is a woman, but _they_ would take her sword and shield away from her, as well as from any woman among you who is a knight or a soldier. What the Qunari do force their women to do is not fit for your children’s ears, my friends—but I will say this much: Your wives, your husbands, your sweethearts, even your brothers, sisters, and children—all of these relationships will be broken apart if we fall to this invasion! You will be forced to abjure your belief in the Maker and Our Lady Andraste, and if you refuse, you will not be given a martyr’s death. Instead they will force their ‘qamek’ into your mouths!”

Numerous weapons were raised to the sky at these words. Caitlyn knew that what the priest was saying was factually correct, but it seemed very much as if Petrice was inciting violence and knew it. The sight of so many blades raised made Caitlyn feel sick. If the Arishok heard about this rally.... His words came back to her mind yet again:  _The Qun will demand an accounting._ What he had meant was that  _he_ would “demand an accounting,” and as a military man, he likely meant in blood.

Someone near the front of the crowd was shouting, but Caitlyn could not hear the words because of the rumble of noise between the front and the back where she stood with her family. Petrice, however, could. A dark smile formed on the priest’s face. “You do wish to know about the role of certain women in the Qun, then,” she said. “I warn you—cover your children’s ears. This is a heresy far viler than anything they could hear even from the lowest criminals of the city.” At that, she launched into a blood-curdling description of the duties of Tamassrans, pausing for emotional effect with every sentence.

Caitlyn was torn. The idea of being ordered to share her body and her womb with whomever the ruler demanded was nauseating to her, even worse than the way that Qunari mages were treated. Even if these women had never known anything else, that did not mean that it was not rape, in her view. And yet, to hear the priest— _her ally—_ speak this way, riling up an angry mob, was also deeply and profoundly uncomfortable to her.

She turned to look at Mal and Anders, who was staring at the crowd with a look of disdain and alarm on his face. “We need to go home,” he said, holding his son’s hand firmly. “We don’t need to hear this. And... I need to talk with you about something.”

_I bet I know what,_ she thought as they began to head back.

* * *

“You are empowering a demagogue,” Anders accused that evening when they were alone. Fear filled his face.

 _Yes,_ Caitlyn thought, _I am._ She knew it was true; she too had been chilled by the sight of Petrice inciting her audience to yell in anger. But what alternative did she have? Elthina had to go, and there was no one else emerging as a potential leader who took their side on the Circles. It would ultimately be up to _her_ to prevent her clerical ally from going too far. Didn’t Anders trust that she could do that? As soon as the possibility occurred to her that he might not, she decided to turn the remark back on him. “This, from the person with a literal, written manifesto,” she rejoined, though her voice was a bit shaky and a little too light.

He gave her a level look that suggested that he knew exactly what she was doing, but otherwise ignored that reply. “Let’s suppose you get everything you want. Her as Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, yourself as Viscountess, the Circle in this city opened up, the Templars backing off harmless apostates. What is she going to do when there are no more Qunari in Kirkwall to rile up crowds against? Who will be her foil then? Demagogues always need one.”

“If you’re implying that you think it will be mages, she’s not going to bite the hand that fed her.”

“You’re very confident of that!”

“The time for her to align with Meredith is past,” Caitlyn said. “Meredith wouldn’t trust her now and she knows that. Her lot is cast with me. If I do get what I want, then she’ll have her foil in reactionary opponents of the reforms. Anders,” she said, taking his hands and gazing into his face, “the only principle she has is her belief in the Chant of Light and her interpretation of what it means. Beyond that, she wants power—but that’s all right, because it means she will double down on the reforms once the reactionaries start to come out of the woodwork. She’ll know she has to have people who support the reforms in order to stay in power—especially me.”

“You say she ‘believes in the Chant of Light,’ but Caitlyn, she is a zealot. Maybe she agrees with you, mostly, about mages, and maybe you’re right about what she’ll do on that subject, but she wants the Qunari gone because to her they are ‘heretics.’ _You_ want them to go home because the Qun is antithetical to personal freedom, and so do I, but not everyone shares our reasons. Please, please remember that,” he pleaded. “She may well agree with us about the Circles, but she still thinks people who have different beliefs from hers are heretics, and the fact that she agrees with us on one thing doesn’t change that. Once the Qunari are gone, whom might she look at next? There is a Dalish clan on the Sundermount....” he hinted darkly.

A shudder passed down Caitlyn’s back at these words. That was a very good point. Although she did believe her own words that Petrice was not going to backstab them over Circle reform, she was much less confident that the priest would let the neighboring Dalish alone if she became Grand Cleric, and harassment of the clan was unacceptable. Even leaving aside her friendship with Merrill, a foreign military unit with a totalitarian philosophy was one thing, but a close-knit clan who kept to themselves and believed harmlessly in their own ancient faith was quite another.

“You’re right,” she said in a low voice. “That’s a legitimate worry.” She moved closer to him, sighing, and gazed at him with a look of sincerity. “I will protect the Dalish if I become Viscountess. I will grant the Sundermount to the clan. Humans don’t live there and I don’t think it belongs to any noble. I’ll deed the mountain to them in exchange for their defending it against raiders, bandits, and dangerous beasts. That way Kirkwall would benefit too.” _I’ll have to give something to the Chantry in a deal like that,_ she realized, _but I’ll work that detail out later._

Anders studied her for a moment. “I hope you succeed, that you’re right, and that everything you’re talking about doing works,” he said. “I mean that. I do. But... is this truly about mages now, or is it about ‘Viscountess Hawke’?”

Caitlyn was startled by the blunt question—and a bit uncomfortable, now that he laid it out like that. “They are one and the same,” she replied, her words a bit shaky. “Ever since I had this ambition, it was about protecting our family and improving the lives of mages. But... yes... now that I’ve truly begun to pursue the ambition, I am thinking now about other things I can do with that kind of power to help Kirkwall in general—and others.”

He sighed, pulling her close, which she freely permitted and welcomed. His embrace was warm and comforting, exactly what she needed after the disturbing events of the past week. “I know. It’s who you are,” he said. “I trust you.”

“And I have you and a spirit of Justice with me,” she said with a smile. “If I do slip, I know you’ll help me find my footing again.”


	5. To Find a Foe Seems To Be the Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much once again for reading and supporting this story! There's an M-rated scene at the very end of the chapter.
> 
> Song is “Wait for an Answer” by Blind Guardian from _A Night at the Opera_.
> 
> Warning: Any strong Elthina and/or Sebastian sympathizers/supporters, close the story now or prepare yourselves for a villainous Elthina and a pathetic Sebastian. Last heads up!

A few days later, Petrice held another rally. Anders did not want to attend.

“It’s not that I disagree with her about the Qun,” he explained in a pained voice. “You know what I think of it. But watching her use the kind of language she did... it was incitement and she knew those people were mostly armed....”

“I understand,” Caitlyn assured him with a gentle touch. “We agree on _both_ points. It made me uneasy too. But that’s why I need to see it, to keep an eye on her and know what she is doing.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I don’t envy you that task, darling. With Justice... well, he is a spirit, and even though he’s part of me now, he still retains part of his nature. He doesn’t handle complexity well. And politics is nothing if not complex and gray.”

“Well, we certainly don’t want him to force an appearance in front of that crowd,” she agreed. “I’ll be back soon.”

As she left the house and headed toward the Lowtown marketplace, she thought about the fact that none of her friends seemed inclined to join her. Aveline, of course, had serious duties as the Captain of the Guard. If she attended one of Petrice’s “speeches,” it would probably be with other guards to keep the crowd from becoming violent.  _That’s not a bad idea, actually,_ Caitlyn thought—provided that  _Petrice_ could prevent her following from fighting with the guards. Varric was almost apolitical; he just wanted freedom and good governance in Kirkwall—but perhaps not  _too_ good, if that would cut into his profits.  _Though wanting freedom, especially, is hardly an apolitical position at the present,_ Caitlyn corrected herself in thought. In any case, he was not the type to attend a raucous rally. Merrill might be talked into going as a lark, but it could be dangerous for her, as a Dalish elf with vallaslin markings on her face. Some of Petrice’s supporters probably opposed the Qun for the same reasons that Caitlyn and Anders did, but others were likely to be intolerant Andrastian zealots. Fenris seemed to be struggling with his own inner conflict about everything; naturally he would be inclined towards the great enemy of Tevinter due to his hatred for Tevinter and his guilt about what he had done years ago, but he did want freedom and he could see with clear eyes that the Qun offered that to few. And Isabela....

_I’m going to talk to her again,_ Caitlyn vowed to herself.  _After the rally. She has continued to act strangely. Something is up, and I’m starting to think it may have to do with the Qunari. She sailed in the northern seas quite a lot before coming to Kirkwall. She could have had a run-in with them. And don’t they have a presence in Rivain? I bet there’s a past._

* * *

The event itself had been more of the same, plus a hint of additional disparagement of the Dumar family and Grand Cleric Elthina. As Caitlyn headed toward the Hanged Man to look for Isabela, she encountered another person she recognized: her Hightown neighbor, Ser Marlein Selbrech.

“Serah Hawke,” Ser Marlein said, greeting her. “Did you come from the speech in Lowtown?”

Caitlyn nodded. “You?”

“I heard about the first one,” said the knight, “and decided to see what they were about when word of the one today reached me.”

“What did you think?” Caitlyn inquired.

Ser Marlein hesitated. “I... think that this priest is very obviously ambitious and sees this as a way to raise her profile. That said, at least she’s calling for action. Elthina and Dumar don’t seem to have a plan for finding out what they want or getting them to go back home.”

Caitlyn decided to share what she had heard from the Arishok. “I was roped into something recently by those two,” she said. “Something that they didn’t want to order their own people to do, involving recovering a dangerous Qunari weapon that had... escaped their compound.” When Ser Marlein’s eyebrows flew up her forehead in alarm and disapproval, Caitlyn continued, embolded. “I spoke with the Qunari Arishok, and he said to me that one day, ‘the Qun will demand an accounting.’”

The knight sucked in her breath sharply. “That’s a threat to the city.”

“Yes, I took it as such, considering the source.”

Ser Marlein scowled. “And Dumar won’t see it! He may disapprove of what his son is doing, but I think his son’s interest in them is softening Dumar himself. And who _knows_ about the Grand Cleric....” She gazed back at the Lowtown marketplace, where the rally had now mostly dispersed, seemingly coming to a decision about something. Caitlyn was quite sure she knew what—and when Ser Marlein spoke again, she was not surprised by the woman’s words. “Yes, at least that priest is calling for action. She’ll have to moderate her tone if she succeeds at her obvious ambition, of course.” The knight turned back to Caitlyn. “If Viscount Dumar does not grow a spine, if his son converts to the Qun or they finally move against Kirkwall, something must be done.”

_I take your point,_ Caitlyn thought, her heart thumping.  _And I must give these people a reason to support me. Right now they have no particular reason to see me as a leader. I can’t tag along with Petrice. I’ll owe her much, much more than she owes me in that case, and that’s not what I want. But how can I make myself a leader in the public eye?_

* * *

“I don’t know where she is,” insisted the barkeeper at the Hanged Man after Caitlyn asked him for the second time about Isabela’s whereabouts. “I haven’t seen her about lately. And she’d be hard to miss, you know?” He grinned and winked.

Caitlyn was not impressed. “Well,” she said coolly, “I am her friend and I wanted to see her. I will be back at another time, you can be sure of it.” She turned around in a huff—and instantly found herself face-to-face with an armored man.

She was almost certain that she had seen him before somewhere. The armor he was wearing was white, and a large bow and quiver were strapped to his back. She supposed that he was somewhat handsome, though his looks were not her type. For a moment she tried to remember where she had seen him and who he was.

“Serah Hawke,” the man said in a heavy accent. “I do not know if you remember meeting me—”

“I know I’ve seen you before,” she said, “but... I’m afraid I don’t recall much beyond that.”

The man nodded. “It was... my goodness, two years ago, was it not? You visited the Chantry to see Grand Cleric Elthina.”

With that, it clicked for Caitlyn. “Prince Sebastian,” she said, her voice now notably guarded. Her impression of the prince had not been favorable, and she could not imagine what he wanted with her now—unless Elthina, who was apparently something of a surrogate mother to him, was sending him out on her behalf for something. She was instantly on alert.

“Brother Sebastian,” he corrected with a smile.

“As you prefer. Did you wish to speak with me about something in particular?”

He nodded importantly. “Might we have a seat? This is... a very rowdy place... but the din of noise might provide a certain amount of cover.”

Caitlyn’s sense of misgiving rose even higher at that, but she ushered the man to a table in a corner and sat down. Looking warily at him, she spoke first. “Well? What brings you here today?”

Sebastian gazed down at the tabletop instead of at her face. “I heard of the... events... in the Lowtown marketplace.”

_Elthina,_ she thought at once.  _I was right. She’s sending him out to gather intelligence about a threat to herself._

He lifted his gaze slightly, and his face was distorted with alarm. “Grand Cleric Elthina”— _I knew it!_ Caitlyn thought—“is very concerned with what she has heard of them, and I share her concerns.”

“How so... Sebastian? You don’t mind if I just call you Sebastian, do you?”

“Not at all. And... I am concerned, _we_ are concerned, because they appear to be making matters worse, regarding the tense situation with the Qunari.”

_That may be true,_ Caitlyn thought,  _but it’s not as if Elthina is trying to resolve it amicably. And whatever my own misgivings about Petrice may be, I’m sure as the Void not going to share them with someone who is a toady for Elthina and will pass on anything I say to her._ “Mother Petrice is voicing the worries that many, many people in Kirkwall feel about the continued presence of the Qunari here, in a fortified building, headed by a military commander,” she said. “I share these concerns myself. Have you listened to what she actually said in her speeches? Nothing she claims about the Qun is untrue.”

Sebastian frowned, clearly displeased with that response. “I have not listened to any of the speeches,” he admitted, “but I have heard that she has incited her listeners to raise their weapons in anger. How can that be a good thing? People turn to the Qun because they are looking for purpose.”

“I agree that that is what is going on,” she said. “They are looking for purpose that they are not finding elsewhere—and why is that, I would like to know?” she said pointedly. “If Elthina is concerned about Petrice’s rallies, and if she agrees with you about why people are turning to the Qun, why doesn’t she step into the void herself instead of letting the Qunari do it? She is the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall. If people feel that they have no options other than the Qun, that is partly her doing.”

Sebastian drew back sharply. “Elthina is a holy woman,” he said defensively. “How can you say that of her?”

“How can you _not?_ You are a brother of the Chantry,” she said. “You would want people to find purpose through Andrastianism. That is also the official religion of human lands, so the Chantry has quite a voice. If they aren’t finding purpose through it—if they are finding it in the Qun instead—that means that the chief priest of the Chantry in Kirkwall is failing them. You can’t avoid that conclusion, Sebastian, whatever she may mean to you personally.”

He sputtered. “She is not to be blamed for the failings of the Chantry to reach everyone,” he exclaimed.

“Then who is? In terms of Kirkwall, at least, _who is?_ Petrice is reaching people. She’s going to Lowtown and speaking directly to them in the open air. Elthina doesn’t do that. She isolates herself from the people she is meant to serve. People come to the Chantry and are turned away from talking with her.”

“That is just not so,” Sebastian cried, and it seemed to Caitlyn that he really was close to tears of indignation. “Serah Hawke, I have known her for years. She is a generous, compassionate, holy woman, and she saved me from a life of sin and iniquity.”

“So I’ve heard,” Caitlyn said, “and I am glad that she was able to help you. But that doesn’t mean she has been that for everyone else.”

He stared at her with pleading eyes. “Let me tell you how I first met her,” he begged. “Let me tell you this story, and then you can decide what kind of a person that she is.”

Caitlyn felt that what she had just said had gone in one of the prince’s ears and out the other, but he seemed determined to have his say. She nodded curtly and sat back, listening, as he continued to speak. As he told of the meeting and the circumstances leading up to it, she felt her own indignation growing. His family had sent him to the Chantry principally because they were afraid that he would sire a bastard child and disgrace their name.  _People said that about my son,_ she thought.  _He’s legitimate now, but people used to call Mal that very word, even my own uncle, and I’m sure it’ll be a line of attack against me once I am more of a public figure. Does he not even think about whom he is speaking to? Is he that obsessed with himself?_

Sebastian continued his story, telling of the first night he was in the Chantry, angry and miserable. Elthina had, that night, offered to release him from Chantry service so that he could continue his prior behavior, stating that she did not believe people should be forced to serve against their wishes. Caitlyn, to her surprise, found herself in sympathy with  _that,_ though she cynically wondered if Elthina would say that to every unwilling initiate sent there by family, or just the ones with noble or royal blood. And  _then_ Sebastian capped his story with a detail that let her gaping in fury: The priest had offered him a purse of gold coins to support himself if he left. She could not listen silently anymore after that.

“Do I understand you correctly that she took a purse full of gold sovereigns from the Chantry coffers and offered it to a prince for his personal use?” Caitlyn burst out, interrupting him.

Sebastian gaped at her, eyes wide, as he sputtered in surprise. Apparently that angle had never once occurred to him. Finally he managed to exclaim, indignantly, “I do not believe she would have done it, had she not _known_ that I would have a change of heart and dedicate myself to Our Lady after all!”

Caitlyn gazed at him with deep skepticism. “She didn’t know you. She had barely met you, and what she knew of you by reputation strongly suggested that you would have taken the coin. I rather suspect that she genuinely felt sorry for you and  _did_ expect that you would take it. She is basically inaccessible to the common people of Kirkwall, and I have not met a single refugee or elf here who has received so much as a copper in charity from the Chantry. She even allowed Meredith Stannard to refuse my Healer husband any Circle mages to help him during a flu outbreak, because it occurred in Darktown.”

“You do not know her as I do,” he replied, his expression darkening. “You slander her by implying that she only feels empathy with those born rich.”

“Then if she _didn’t_ really want you to accept the coin, she gambled—yes, Sebastian, she did,” she repeated as he sputtered in outrage again at this word, “and the coin she risked was not even her own. That her gamble paid off is immaterial. Just to be sure, I’m not saying a word against _you._ You refused the gold. _She_ is the one I am speaking against for offering gold intended for charity to someone who did not need it.”

Sebastian was offended now and visibly angry. He drew himself up in a huff. “It  _might_ have been her coin,” he finally managed. “No one is supposed to grow rich from serving the Chantry, but some do have salaries.”

“And she stored all her savings in the Chantry itself, did she? Stuffed under a mattress, perhaps? I understand why you want to defend her, but you ought to face reality. That coin had been tithed to the Chantry for charity.”

The prince glowered. “She trusted in her faith, and it was rewarded. It was not a gamble. The Maker and Andraste reward those who have faith.”

“It’s not an act of faith to deliberately risk something that one doesn’t have the right to risk,” she retorted. “It’s just a gamble, and in this case, it was even worse because you didn’t need the coin. You were born a prince. Even if your family would not take you back, you had many friends and acquaintances. She risked that someone who did not need the Chantry’s gold would take it. My uncle gambled with money that wasn’t his and lost our estate at last. I see no difference except that Elthina won her bet.”

Sebastian rose from the table hotly. “I see that you have made up your mind about her,” he exclaimed. “I can’t understand why you dislike her so much....”

“Didn’t you hear what I said about many Kirkwall poor not receiving any charity from the Chantry? Or her support of Meredith Stannard in refusing to help my husband in quelling an outbreak of disease?”

“I... am sure she had her reasons,” Sebastian said uncomfortably.

“Oh, I’m sure she did too,” she replied in an acid tone. “I think this topic of discussion is best dropped, _Brother_ Sebastian. Did you wish to discuss anything else with me today?”

He shook his head, and his visage was markedly cold now. “I did not. Thank you for your time, Serah Hawke.”

He hustled toward the front door of the Hanged Man, not even bothering to escort her from the place as a gentleman would escort a lady— _as either of my male friends would do, let alone Anders,_ she thought in contempt—and she followed behind, irritation visible on her face. _At least I’ve staked out my loyalty and position very firmly. Maybe Petrice will disapprove, since she likes the Game, but it’s not what I want to do, and she herself is speaking quite freely and openly these days, so perhaps she realizes there’s no point in my pretending to play both sides._

She had just reached the door of the tavern when she was accosted by a messenger from Seneschal Bran of the Viscount’s Keep. Viscount Dumar and Elthina herself wished to speak with her about a matter of crucial importance, he said. Sebastian listened in interest and, without Caitlyn’s permission, followed her and the messenger back to the Keep to hear the full details.

* * *

“So,” she said coolly at the Keep, “this group of Qunari diplomats to the Viscount has been taken hostage, you say?”

“By Ser Varnell, according to the guard Orwald,” said Elthina. She gazed at Caitlyn with frost in her eyes. “The very Ser Varnell who used to be the bodyguard of Mother Petrice,” she added pointedly. “He stole my seal and used it to apprehend the Qunari en route.”

_I’m not being told something,_ Caitlyn thought at once.  _This seems on its face to be another attempt to drive a wedge into the alliance, but she has to know that I am going to go to Petrice to hear what she has to say. She just named her and Varnell directly. Surely she realizes that I’m going to do that. It can’t be as simple as trying to divide us or switch my loyalty. There is something else afoot. What, though?_

“You say ‘used to’ be her bodyguard,” she repeated, eyeing the Grand Cleric. “Was he relieved of duty?”

“He has been derelict in his Templar duties and instead decided to head a violent mob of fanatics that we already suspect of terrorist activity!” she exclaimed. “Yes, in consultation with the Knight-Commander, I have stripped him of the honors of a knight. He is no longer a Templar, just a common man with no protection from the law.”

_So you truly think that Templars should have protection from the law,_ Caitlyn thought in contempt.  _Did you mean for that to slip out, “Your Grace”?_ Aloud she said, “I see. I will do my best to resolve this situation peacefully, Your Graces. Thank you for letting me know.”

Making sure that Sebastian was not following her now that he was with Elthina, Caitlyn headed back to Lowtown to the house where Petrice had advised her to meet for secret business. If her suspicions were correct about this, Petrice had passed the seal to Varnell— _and she has to know that I would work that out,_ she thought.  _I wish she had told me that she was going to do this, but perhaps she didn’t know about the Qunari diplomats in time to warn me, since she also had a rally scheduled today. I know something else is up, though, and I am not going to act without talking with her first to find out what._

* * *

Petrice was in the Lowtown house, seated comfortably in a chair with a glass of wine in one hand, obviously awaiting Caitlyn’s appearance.

“Well,” Caitlyn said once she saw the priest, “clearly, you know why I’m here. Let’s get right to business.” She sat down in another chair. “Is Elthina trying to create a scandal to get rid of both of us?”

“Yes,” Petrice said at once. “That is one outcome that she would find acceptable. But it is not the only one, and I don’t think it is her preferred one. There is a greater game afoot, Hawke,” she added once Caitlyn started to ask for elucidation. “We must be careful in how we deal with this.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Explain, then,” she said. “You took the seal, didn’t you? And passed it to Varnell, even though he’s no longer a Templar?”

“Yes, to both. I also approved his dismissal as my bodyguard. Don’t worry, Hawke—it was a false show of loyalty, or at least, the absence of open rebellion. Varnell and I are still allied, I assure you. And there is something else that you need to know about all of this. Elthina let me take the seal. She does not know that I know this, though, and it is important that she not learn.”

“I... beg your pardon?” Suddenly Caitlyn’s temper flared. It was one thing for Petrice not to warn her about the hostage-taking and seal theft if she did not have the time to do so, but this was starting to sound as if she _did_ have time. If there was one thing Caitlyn despised, it was being used as a pawn. “Excuse my language, but what in the Void is going on? At the Keep, Elthina said that _Varnell_ had stolen the seal. If she knew that _you_ took it and let you do it, then why did you forge documents with it anyway? She will use it against you! I’m only surprised that she hasn’t yet, and blamed Varnell instead. Are you sure that she knows it was you? What is going on?”

“She is playing the Game against you and me, Hawke. Sometimes the best countermove is to pretend that one does not realize that it _is_ the Game.”

Caitlyn snarled. “I’m not Orlesian. I’m Kirkwaller and Fereldan. I don’t like the Game.”

A faint smirk formed on the priest’s face. “But she is playing it, so you have little choice but to play against her, you know. When Varnell heard about these ‘delegates,’ he was very insistent that they should not be allowed into the Keep, because he distrusted their intentions. That was not part of the Game. He is like you in some regards, Hawke, and even more like your husband, much as Warden Anders might dislike that comparison—sincere and idealistic to a fault, and rather inclined toward physical, even violent action.”

She tried to take that in. “Does he have cause to distrust them?”

“He thinks he does. He thinks they mean harm to the Viscount. He did not share his full reasoning with me. His plea for the seal was very urgent, as they were apparently en route when he learned of it. For my part... I considered denying his request, and—if he is correct—allowing an assassination to occur.”

Caitlyn scowled. “I’d rather Dumar resigned with his life. Besides, losing him right now would destabilize Kirkwall and maybe even allow Meredith Stannard to seize direct rule. He is a fool, but he’s what we have for now. I am not ready to make _my_ move yet. I met with a noble today, after your rally, but I need to plead _my_ case for leadership as you are pleading yours.”

“That was my conclusion too—and I am glad that you are soliciting support from nobles now. When my own agents—yes, Hawke, I have some,” she added as Caitlyn raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Varnell was not the only Templar who supports me secretly. I believe he even dispatched one to Warden Anders’ clinic to warn you once. When my agents told me, after the speech, that Elthina had asked _you_ to do this work when she knew perfectly well that I had used the seal, that was when I realized that it was the Game.”

Caitlyn took another deep breath and exhaled. “What do you think is her play, then?”

“She involved you in this for a reason, and it is not because she likes or trusts you. You don’t need me to tell you that she doesn’t. There are two possibilities I am considering: Either she wants to get you killed in the fray and me disgraced, or to break up our alliance if you survive.”

She sighed. “I considered that she might want our alliance broken. What ‘fray’ do you mean, though? The Qunari diplomats are violent?”

“They’re Qunari soldiers,” Petrice said dismissively. “Of course they are violent. But there is another danger. Varnell did take over the existing group of renegades who incited that elf to make the poison gas. He might have them with him, and they might decide to execute the Qunari rather than fighting ‘fairly,’ which would elicit sympathy for them in certain quarters. We don’t want that. We do need to intervene, but if he has that group with him, _you_ need to make sure that you do not turn them against you. They are much more zealous than the people who come to my speeches.”

“I did say I would try to resolve it peacefully.” She gazed at the priest narrowly. “There is one other thing. Why didn’t you warn me in advance?”

“I was going to tell you, Hawke. This happened very quickly.”

She nodded. “Prince Sebastian intercepted me and engaged me in a long discussion. I wonder now if Elthina might have sent him to keep me busy so that you _wouldn’t_ be able to reach me before the messenger did.”

“It’s very possible.” She finished her glass of wine and rose from the seat. “Gather any friends and allies that you would like, Hawke. I know where Varnell’s Darktown hideout is. I suspect he is there, and the Qunari with him.”

* * *

For this, Caitlyn rounded up everyone that she could find who was willing to go. Varric, Fenris, and Merrill accompanied her to Darktown. Isabela was still missing, and Aveline pleaded a conflict of interests with her position as Captain of the Guard. The hideout was not too far from Anders’ clinic, and she dispatched Merrill to it to let him know what was going on. She knew that Mal was with him, so she was not sure that he would choose to come—and when he emerged down the corridor, with Baldwin the mabari _and Mal in tow,_ she was actually shocked.

“This could be dangerous,” she told Anders in an undertone. “Are you sure that he should be here?”

“Justice is less inclined to burst out in combat if Mal is present. He knows that Mal cannot afford to lose his parents, and his emphasis is shifted toward justice for our son in that case... so if he does try to influence me, it’ll be to take Mal and leave to protect him. And I will cast a ward that’s impermeable to physical damage upon him—and myself—if it gets bad,” he said. “I’d include you as well, but....”

“I understand,” she said, giving him a brief hug. “And I’m sure that Baldwin will do his part too!”

The dog barked in agreement.

Petrice nodded as Caitlyn’s family joined her. “I trust they are prepared to flee....”

“They are.”

The group reached a dark corner where Varnell and a female Templar stood guard over four Qunari, all of whom were chained and tied to the walls, stripped of their weapons. A couple of civilians with sharp knives and wild eyes accompanied them, but there was no large group of fanatics. Caitlyn breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to fight anyone at all....

“Varnell,” Petrice said, “here she is, and her friends with her.”

Caitlyn stepped forward at once. “Yes,” she said. “What is going on? Mother Petrice said that you distrusted the Qunari’s intentions and that’s why you did this.”

The ex-Templar glared at the confined Qunari, then at the pile of weapons that lay to the opposite side of the dark space. “See that stack of swords, daggers, and bows? That’s what they had with them.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “I see. _All_ of them?”

“Every last one. Don’t you tell me they meant the Viscount well.” He spat on the ground at the feet of the Qunari.

One of the Qunari spoke up. “It is the way of our people.”

Caitlyn gazed back at them evenly. “Even if that is true, you are not in Par Vollen,” she said. “You are in Kirkwall, which means that you will do things our way. The way of _our_ people is that ambassadors do not go into diplomatic discussions menacing our rulers with weapons. Viscount Dumar is an old man, and you will not be allowed to see him unless you agree to go without your weapons.”

The two civilians with Varnell glared at her in disapproval. “This is your ally?” one of them said to him and the female Templar.

“That’s a nice thought, Hawke,” Varnell said sarcastically, “but they won’t do it.”

A Qunari spoke up again. “We will not, and it is a disgrace to demand it of us. The weapon of a Qunari is _asala,_ his soul.”

Fenris shifted beside them at this, clearly very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Varnell sputtered in contempt, turning back to Caitlyn, “That’s more than I got out of them—but it’s no surprise to me. It means that not a single one of them is a diplomat at all, just as I thought!”

Caitlyn realized where this was going at once.

“I know enough about the Qun to know this,” he continued heatedly. “If you consider a _weapon_ your ‘soul’ in the Qun, it means you’re a warrior. A soldier, a fighter—and you can do _one_ thing in the Qun, so they’re not warriors _and_ diplomats. They were sent to assassinate Viscount Dumar. I knew it!”

Beside Anders, Mal’s hazel eyes widened. Anders grimaced, but he had made the decision to let the little boy witness this.

Fenris was visibly appalled as he spoke. “This man... is correct about roles in the Qun,” he said, horror spreading over his face. He gazed at the bound Qunari. “They are a Sten, who is a military lieutenant... Karashok, and Ashaad. All warrior classes in the Qun.”

The one who was apparently the Sten spoke up. “The Arishok only commands a force of fighters. He sent what he had.”

Caitlyn stepped forward, distrust and indignation in her green eyes. “The Arishok is one of the Qunari heads of state,” she replied to the man. “He himself has confirmed to me that you are here because of an official mission. Your people, in fact, have been here for _three years._ If he wanted an ambassador, he could have requested one from home, and I rather suspect that is what the Qun would demand that he do, rather than forcing people to do work that the Qun claims they’re not suited for.”

The Sten fell silent at this, staring back at Caitlyn expressionlessly.

“So let’s just kill them,” said one of the two civilians. “Enough talk.”

“Let’s _not,”_ said Caitlyn at once. “They’re unarmed captives. If there was a plot on the Viscount, and I am inclined to agree that there was, it’s been thwarted. Let’s march them right back to the Arishok.” Beside her, Anders smiled proudly.

As soon as she finished speaking, however, several more Qunari appeared from the corridors of Darktown, every one of them bearing weapons, just like their fellows. Varnell’s eyes bugged out in surprise, and Caitlyn’s widened as well at the sight of a collared, leashed Qunari mage—a Saarebas, whose mouth was sewn shut. Fear suddenly overtook her, and she grabbed her staff in a threatening attack position.

“Anders—that’s a Qunari mage! Get Mal out of here!” she exclaimed.

Beside the family, Baldwin began to growl and bark menacingly at the approaching fighters.

Anders did not need to be told twice. He scooped his son up in his arms and hustled him back toward the clinic even as the boy started to plead for his mother’s safety.

“I’m going to be fine, Mal!” she cried at the rapidly retreating pair.

“You two mages,” Varnell said gruffly, looking at Caitlyn and Merrill, “stand back. Far back.” He raised his hand, and the scent of lyrium began to coalesce around him. Caitlyn instantly took off running, Merrill close on her heels, as Varnell cast a Holy Smite that sent the Qunari Saarebas reeling.

The edges of the Smite reached Caitlyn and Merrill despite their attempt to flee. They were not drained of their mana, but it still winded them both. _Should I use blood magic in front of a Templar, an ex-Templar, and a priest?_ she thought. _Or just stay out until we recover?_

She was certain that Varnell’s action would initiate combat, but as she recovered her magical strength, she realized that it had not happened. Instead Varric had stepped forward to speak, to try to calm everyone. She took a deep breath and returned to the area. Each person who had remained was standing intimidatingly before one of the newcomer Qunari.

“We do not want to fight,” Varric was pleading. “You lot can just go back to the Arishok and we’ll all walk away, all right?”

Caitlyn breathed deeply again. Her mana was recovered, at least. She turned to the Sten who remained chained to the wall, a hard look in her face. “Explain _this,”_ she said. “Why weren’t these Qunari with your group? And how did they know where to find Varnell? This is supposed to be a secret hideout.”

“They obviously followed behind secretly and lurked here,” Varnell himself snarled when the Sten did not reply. “This apparently isn’t just a squad to kill the Viscount, as I thought—it’s meant to hold the Keep afterwards!”

“Another thing I want to know,” Caitlyn said, “is why the Saarebas is here. If this really was a diplomatic mission, Sten, what in the Void is a mage with a ‘handler’ and a _sewn-up mouth_ doing here?”

The Sten remained silent, glaring back at Caitlyn and the others coldly. The rest of the Qunari also refused to answer.

“Their silence speaks volumes,” said Petrice. “I think Varnell is right.”

Caitlyn decided to choose her side unambiguously at last. “So do I,” she said, her voice set and hard, the three words falling from her lips like the tolling of a bell.

The Qunari who were still armed reached for their weapons. It appeared that it would come to a fight after all—but Caitlyn burst out, in a last-ditch effort, “You were following the Arishok’s orders. My friend is right. We have two options. We can fight, and there are more of us than there are of you, so you will not have strength of numbers at the end to fulfill your mission even if you defeat us... or you can go back to the Arishok. Your choice.”

The Qunari turned to the Sten for guidance, who was clearly the leader even when disarmed and held captive. After a moment’s consideration, he spoke, contempt in his words. “We return to the Arishok. If we have failed, better to face the demands of the Qun than to fall to bas blades and unchained magic.”

As her friends and Varnell’s group began to seize the weapons of the new Qunari and restrain their arms, she regarded the Sten coolly. “If he lets you speak, you can tell him that if he has any _actual_ diplomats to send to Viscount Dumar, he is welcome to do so, but he will not be permitted to dispatch a team of heavily armed warriors, and mages trained only in combat, into the private quarters of an elderly man. Or perhaps _I_ will tell him that.”

The last of the Qunari were bound. The Sten looked at the pile of weapons that had been taken from himself and his force. “We will be slain if we return without our souls,” he said.

“That’s not my problem,” said Varnell.

Caitlyn was torn for a moment about what to do. On one hand, it seemed extremely foolish to return these weapons to the Arishok, knowing that he intended to assassinate the Viscount—probably after learning of Petrice’s first rally, she realized. On the other hand, she still hoped that she could take a leadership role in persuading them to leave peacefully, as she had done today, and she supposed it might be seen as a sign of respect to return the weapons. “No, let’s take them back with us as a sign of good faith,” she said. “We want to prevent Kirkwall bloodshed. Taking the weapons might be a provocation.”

Varnell and Petrice looked at her skeptically, and the ex-Templar appeared to be on the verge of objecting, but Petrice held up her hand and shook her head at him.

As she took her place at the head of the group, leaving Darktown, she noticed that two people joined her: Anders and Mal. They had not gone to the surface to the Hightown house, but had lurked in the distance to keep an eye on the proceedings. Her heart soared at the realization that Anders had been there all along to protect her if it had become necessary.

“That was impressive,” he said to her as he and Mal hurried to the front of the group to walk beside her. Baldwin barked in pleasure at their return and immediately took his place guarding his mistress’s pup.

She smiled. “I guess it was! I can’t quite believe it happened. Now let’s just hope the Arishok doesn’t attack us on sight.”

* * *

Caitlyn handed her staff to Anders as they reached the surface. She was not ready yet to out herself as a mage, though she did want to seize this moment for other purposes. As they frog-marched the Qunari through the streets of Lowtown, heading for the docks and the Qunari compound, people on the streets parted to let them through. A great many of them cheered and pointed. They appeared to recognize Petrice immediately, which was no surprise given that she had held two rallies in Lowtown, but Caitlyn caught their excited comments as word of her identity as the person heading the entire group spread through the crowd.

“Now that’s a leader, Hawke is,” she overheard one merchant say.

“Looks like she’s working hand-in-hand with our priest,” agreed another.

“Yes. I’d like to know what Viscount Dumar and the so-called Grand Cleric were doing all this time.”

She decided to speak. “People of Kirkwall,” she called out to the throng, “I am pleased to announce that we have thwarted a plot against the city and secured the safety of the Viscount from this group of heavily armed Qunari that had been dispatched to the Keep to harm him. And with no bloodshed!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd. Beside her, Anders chuckled. “Elthina will certainly hear about _that_ statement!” he said in a voice that only she could hear. “It’s a good idea, though, to protect yourselves from her vengeance for this not going the way she wanted it to.”

As they approached the docks district, a new, very disquieting thought entered Caitlyn’s head at his words. _Did Elthina know what the Qunari intended too? How much does she know about roles in the Qun and what it means that the Arishok sent no one but warriors and a mage? Did she actually want that team to reach the Keep and assassinate Dumar?_ she wondered. _Was that the ultimate goal of the game? First get rid of Petrice, Varnell, and me—and any of my friends and family who went with me—and then let Dumar be assassinated, empowering her and Meredith to seize direct control of the city?_

This thought was so dark and disturbing that she pushed it out of her mind, unable to consider the implications fully right now. If Elthina was capable of that, she was far more dangerous than Caitlyn had seriously contemplated—and all the more so because many people considered her harmless.

They reached the steps of the Qunari compound. Caitlyn glanced back and noticed, to her surprise—but relief—that she had acquired a large following from Lowtown, people who had joined the group to march to the compound in support and protection of their chosen “leaders.” There were now dozens who had her back, and most of them were holding weapons. It gave her courage and excited the ambitious part of her. Still, she decided one thing at once. “Mal,” she said to her son, “you need to stay back with your father. This is no place for children.”

He nodded. “I understand, Mamma.”

She took a breath and headed up the stairs with those in her entourage who were holding Qunari weapons and force-marching captives. “I have come to return the missing ‘delegates’ and their _weapons_ to the Arishok,” she declared to the guard, “and to give him a message.”

* * *

Caitlyn’s heart was still palpitating after she had left the Qunari compound. She had no idea what would become of the Qunari they had returned, since they had clearly failed in their mission—but that was out of her hands. If they were to be killed, their blood would not be directly on _her_ hands or those of her allies. She and all of her companions and entourage had left the place unscathed, despite the extremely threatening statement that the Arishok had made when she informed him that she knew what the squad had been sent to do and that if he intended any real diplomacy, he could send for real diplomats.

_“I told you once before, Hawke. The Qun will demand an accounting. You have merely delayed that today. You cannot delay it forever.”_

Those words continued to echo in her mind as she headed home, trying to avoid the glad-handing and cheering from Lowtown. To her mild annoyance, some of it even continued as she entered Hightown.

“I heard about what happened today,” said a bearded nobleman who was standing and talking with Ser Marlein Selbrech. “Well done, it was. Comte Guillaume de Launcet, Serah Hawke. I knew your mother’s family.”

Caitlyn recognized the name at once. _This is the man that Mother’s parents wanted her to marry,_ she realized. “Pleased to meet you, Comte,” she said, shaking his proffered hand. “I was glad to do what I did today.”

“And I heard, too, that the Grand Cleric was nowhere to be seen—that she even tried to make villains out of the ones who intercepted those Qunari. The one that used her seal shouldn’t have done it, as a general rule, but I think this merits an exception.”

“The Grand Cleric was very concerned with punishing the use of her own seal, it is true,” Caitlyn said, seeing an opportunity to further smear Elthina to a powerful person who seemed disposed against her already. “And the Viscount seemed not to consider the possibility that the ‘delegates’ might have been sent in bad faith.”

De Launcet shook his head in disgust. “Poor leadership all around. I even hear his son is considering converting to the Qun, partly because his father isn’t there for him and his mother is dead.” He gazed at Mal and Anders, a smile on his face. “What a contrast! Perhaps it’s time for a change.”

“The assembled nobles of Kirkwall have the right to call for no confidence in a Viscount,” Ser Marlein remarked. “That option has not been invoked, but it’s written into the city charter, after the Orlesians were expelled.”

“Well!” said De Launcet, studying Caitlyn and her family in interest. “Something to think about!”

* * *

Dumar was shocked to learn that the Qunari “delegates” were apparently assassins. He thanked Caitlyn profusely when she informed him what had taken place.

“Yes, we are certainly grateful that Hawke was able to keep to her word about avoiding bloodshed,” Elthina said tightly, standing beside the Viscount.

_No you aren’t,_ thought Caitlyn.

“Were you able to prove that it was Varnell who stole my seal?” she demanded.

“He acknowledged having used it,” Caitlyn replied, “but he said that he did it because the urgency of stopping the assassination took precedence, in his mind.”

“And very glad I am that he did, no offense to Your Grace,” said Dumar.

Elthina’s lips thinned. “Nonetheless, the Chantry will have to punish him for the theft and misuse of the Grand Cleric’s seal.”

“You said he had already been stripped of his knighthood and expelled from the Templar Order,” said Caitlyn.

“That was for joining the group of violent fanatics. This is different. The Chantry will do as it sees fit, Hawke. Your work here is finished.”

_I just bet it isn’t,_ she thought as she turned to leave.

* * *

When she returned home at last, she saw that Petrice was in the living room, talking idly with her mother and Anders, while Mal read quietly in a corner chair. She walked over to him and gave him a hug. “I’m so proud of you today,” she told him quietly. “You must have seen a lot of frightening things, but you were very brave!”

He gave his mother a smile. “I was scared once, when you told Father to take me home. I was scared for you.”

“Oh, Mal,” she cried, giving him another brief but tight hug. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I just wanted you to be safe, whatever happened to me.”

“Father said that we were going to stand way back and watch, and he would protect you if he had to.”

“I saw that he did!” she agreed.

“I felt better then.”

“Of course. Your father and I protect each other, you, Grandma, the animals—all of the family and our friends.”

“Someday I’m going to help. When I’m big enough. Then we’ll be even safer.”

A pang struck Caitlyn at that. _His illusions are breaking,_ she realized. _He knows that his mother and father are not invincible now, and he knows his own limitations too. He is learning what vulnerability really means._ She had known that it would happen, and she was glad that it had not happened in a traumatic, tragic way, but it still hurt to see him lose this part of his innocence.

“Yes,” she managed to get out, “we will.” She turned aside and joined the others, greeting Petrice at last as Anders replaced her beside Mal. Clearly, his preference was to be beside his son rather than chat with the priest.

“I should warn you,” Caitlyn said to the priest, _“she_ intends to try to punish Varnell over the seal.”

“She won’t find him,” said Petrice smoothly.

“What is this?” Leandra exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

Caitlyn supposed she might as well explain to her mother as much as she could. “You have heard what happened today, I guess?” When Leandra nodded, she continued. “The man who first apprehended the Qunari had used the Grand Cleric’s seal without her permission, because he deemed it urgent. I just returned from the Keep, and Elthina is focusing on this ‘slight’ rather than anything else.” _And dishonestly and in bad faith, since she let it be used._

“Well, it seems very inappropriate of her to focus on that,” Leandra said.

“Inappropriate, indeed,” said the priest. She turned to Caitlyn. “I was waiting for you to arrive, Hawke. Your husband informs me that we need to discuss something. We were catching your mother up with what happened today in the meantime.”

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows at Anders in the corner, wondering what he had said. He gazed back sheepishly but still with a smile on his face, rising to his feet. “Let’s go to the study,” he urged.

The three of them walked into that room, Anders closing the door behind them once they were inside. Caitlyn touched a rune on a lamp to provide light as they sat down.

“What is this about, Anders?” she asked him.

“I think... things are moving quickly at last,” he said, “and so we need to be prepared to act quickly on other issues.”

Suddenly she understood, and once she did, she realized that she should have guessed at once. This was Anders, after all. “Circle reform,” she said.

He nodded. “It’s part of our plans.”

“You mentioned to me a couple of years ago that you wanted an end to the Rite of Tranquility in Kirkwall and for mages of the Circle to have the right to see their families and friends,” said Petrice. “Given that my speeches against the Qunari have focused in part on _their_ prohibition of families and their maltreatment of mages, these are reforms that I think the people of Kirkwall are ready for—or very soon can be made to be.”

“Well, there’s more,” Anders said bluntly. “You must have guessed that at the time.”

“I suspected. What other reforms do you want to see?”

From the expression on his face, Anders seemed surprised that a priest of the Chantry was asking the question so nonchalantly, not even knowing what he might say. It seemed that she really did not care about changing long-standing policies about mages, as strange as that was to him. “There are two other things I thought of,” he said. “I want mages who are accused of crimes to have the right to be tried in the same court as anyone else. And I want an end to the Harrowing. It’s all but useless. I want mages to be allowed to leave the Circle entirely and do as they please in life once the senior enchanters have declared them masters of a school of magic.”

Petrice raised her eyebrows.  _Oh, Anders,_ thought Caitlyn in despair at the sight,  _I agree with every word of that, but you are asking for too much too soon._

“That is a very radical set of reform proposals,” Petrice said guardedly.

Anders glared back. “You can see for yourself that they could be done, though. Caitlyn and I... our family... her late father and sister... and other Grey Warden mages live this way with no harm done. It could happen.”

“I saw it for myself in Orlais,” she replied, “but _politically,_ can it happen? That is the question.”

“Would you make us hypocrites before other mages and mage supporters?” he burst out. “If you’re in a position to set Circle policy, and we’re... where Caitlyn would like to be... then people will know that we are a family of mages. How could you ask us to seemingly condone other mages being locked up while we live openly and freely? I am a Warden, but Caitlyn isn’t. Maybe mages will get to see their parents and siblings, but they still can’t start their _own_ families without reforms like these enacted. Meanwhile, Caitlyn and I are married with a child. How could you—?” He broke off, gazing down.

Caitlyn was deeply moved by this impassioned speech. Her initial inclination to think of political possibilities above all lessened. “You know, he has a point,” she said. Anders looked up at her gratefully, and she continued, encouraged. “How about a compromise?”

Petrice seemed interested. “What do you propose, Hawke?”

She thought quickly. “Regarding the right to a trial for mages... how about an appeal to the Chantry? The problem is that the Knight-Commander has the right of summary execution with no appeal. No other person is subject to that. Mages should have the right to appeal to a Chantry panel when they are accused of something and to present witnesses in their defense.”

Anders scowled, but he kept silent.

Petrice nodded. “That seems reasonable and politically possible.”

“And... regarding Anders’ other idea... how about this? This would build on existing precedent. Even Elthina said once that mages have been allowed outside the Gallows to serve the city. Harrowed mages would have the right to serve Kirkwall, either as Healers or as auxiliaries to the City Guard. And they can live outside the Gallows altogether if they do serve the city in either way.”

Petrice considered this before nodding as well. “This would be in keeping with the command of the Prophet that magic is to serve man. Locking mages away, unable to help others with their talents, violates that command, I think.”

Anders sighed heavily. “It’s not as much as I wanted... as you know,” he said grudgingly, “but it’s better than nothing.”

* * *

Late that night, when they were finally in bed, she turned to him sympathetically.

“It could happen someday, Anders,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I agreed with everything you asked for... but better to get half of what we want than to ask for too much and get nothing. And once people are used to the first set of reforms, then we could gradually make bigger and bigger ones.”

He scowled ahead in the dark. “I hope you’re right, but it might also result in that becoming the new status quo for centuries. As time has passed, the Circles have become _more_ restrictive, not less. Change is not always forward, Caitlyn. And I didn’t even mention my _most_ radical position.”

“Oh?”

“I want the Chantry taken completely out of the picture,” he said. “There’s a place for a school of magic—that I’ll grant. But it should be run by cities... kingdoms, whatever they may be. Not the Chantry.”

She gazed at him in awe. “That’s actually... a great idea,” she said. She leaned over and gave him a kiss. “And there was not a chance in the Void that a priest of the Chantry was going to agree to it tonight, even a Circle moderate.”

He chuckled wryly, pulling her into an embrace. “I suppose not.”

She let him kiss and caress her as he pulled her on top of him. They were wearing nothing but their thin house robes, and as his attentions grew more intense, she found herself looking forward to what she knew came next.

“You were amazing today,” he murmured against the tender skin of her neck as he kissed her. “Magnificent. When you talked all of those people down... led that group through Lowtown to applause and approval... I could hardly wait to have you to myself, just like this.”

“It was touch and go for a while in Darktown,” she began to protest, but she stopped at once when he pulled her house robe off.

“But when I saw you at the head of the throng....” Anders trailed off, his pupils dilating in lust as his voice dropped an octave. “I saw a Viscountess.” He tossed the robe to the floor and quickly stripped himself of his own, throwing it atop hers. His breath caught in his chest. “And to think that you have chosen _me....”_

She leaned forward, pressing her increasingly heated flesh against his from head to toe, as she kissed him deeply. “Never think yourself unworthy,” she murmured, breaking the kiss. “Sometimes... I think you’re the better half of us. And we chose each other.” 

He growled in approval and agreement as he gently rolled her over, pressing her against the mattress. She let her head fall back on the pillow, her eyes rolling upward to meet his as he towered over her. As they began their familiar movements, she thought about how, even though they had been a married couple for over two years and had been lovers for additional months in Lothering and Kirkwall, this was still just as wonderful as it was from the first.  _Both “firsts,”_ she thought, thinking of when they renewed their relationship physically after being reunited at last.  _It’s just as good, if not even better. Our desire has not diminished or moderated one bit._

He lifted her arms above her head and held them in place with one hand, planting another very deep kiss on the side of her neck that would certainly leave a mark if he did not heal it. She smiled as he did, happily allowing him to do what he wished. Some nights, she would be the one taking the lead... but tonight he wanted to please her, to do the work himself. Pleasure and desire quickly overtaking her, she let him continue until they both were gasping, staring at each other with wide, dilated eyes, the aftershocks still rippling down their sated bodies.

“Amazing,” he said in a hoarse whisper, stroking her sides. “Just as I said.”

“Because I have an amazing partner,” she managed to reply.

They shared one final kiss for the night before curling up together to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long end note here, but this is a fairly complex issue. As this chapter makes extremely clear, I do not think that the Qunari diplomats were sent in good faith, nor that they were truly diplomats. Varnell’s an unpleasant character, but at the same time, I do think that team was sent by the Arishok to assassinate the Viscount and hold the Keep afterward. He sure doesn’t mind doing exactly that later, with no personal provocation from Dumar himself.
> 
> As for why Elthina knowingly let her seal be used (and thank you to reader Voracity for pointing out that she knew about it, in the previous story’s comments. I haven’t ever gotten that specific dialogue), I think she is using people as pawns. The way in which she’s doing so is a little different between canon and this AU. Her goal in canon, I think, is to provoke the Arishok into attacking; she would know full well what a zealot with an angry mob would do to the captives (and game!Hawke does not have Petrice’s and Varnell’s existing trust to talk him down). Once Dumar and his heir are dead, there is nothing standing in Elthina/Meredith’s way of seizing direct rule and no one with an existing leadership profile and respectability to challenge them. This holds even if the game writers _didn’t_ intend the Qunari to be a hit team—and if they did, she would still get what she wants if the Qunari defeated Hawke, Varnell, etc., and continued to the Keep.
> 
> In this story’s AU, of course, there is an alternative motive for her in that she sees direct threats to herself that she could try to remove by involving all of them in an ugly fight that she expects them to lose. Her motives about Dumar and direct rule would still hold, so that’s why she “might have” (wink, wink, we’ll find out!) wanted at least some of the Qunari to reach him, so long as Caitlyn and Petrice died first.
> 
> That the delegates were supposed to assassinate Dumar and take the Keep is undoubtedly a controversial assertion, and I don’t want to get into an argument about it—it’s just a fanfic, so for purposes of this fic, it’s a hit squad whether the writers meant that for the game or not. (They may simply not have thought through the implications of having every member of that team a warrior or Saarebas, no Ben-Hassrath or others with political roles in the Qun, nor the implications of having Qunari lurk in ambush if you side with Varnell.) But they are _alleged_ to be diplomats, and they haven’t struck the first blow yet, so I didn’t want Caitlyn to be party to murder. “An opportunity to show leadership instead” basically wrote itself after that.


	6. No Place Like Home, No Place To Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to read the story! This was an extremely fun chapter to write... the latter part, at least. It gets pretty heavy early on.
> 
> Song inspiration is “¿Viva La Gloria?” by Green Day and refers here to Tallis.

For a week after Caitlyn had interceded and then publicly led the captive Qunari diplomats through Lowtown, news and gossip in Kirkwall were curiously benign, entirely devoid of ominous rumors involving Elthina, Meredith, or even the Arishok. The period of quiet was unsettling to Caitlyn. Were her foes just licking their wounds and plotting quietly? It seemed likely, and Caitlyn did not like the uncertainty, especially since Petrice held a third rally soon after the march through Lowtown—yet another public provocation.

“I heard that you had business with a Qunari defector once,” the priest said afterward, eyeing Caitlyn with interest.

“Yes,” she said, seeing no reason to conceal it. “A Tal-Vashoth, as they’re called. He named himself Maraas after he defected and wanted to become a mercenary sellsword.”

“Indeed, the Qunari do not even permit the use of proper names,” Petrice said, shaking her head in derision. “If the ruling class decides that your lot in life shall be different, they get to change the word you’re called by as a name—the word marking your very _identity. Nothing_ belongs to the individual person in the Qun, not even one’s unique Maker-given identity.”

Caitlyn had realized long ago that Petrice’s dislike of the Qun was not an affectation in the slightest and was not just because the Qun was not Andrastian. She was certainly using it to advance her ambition, but she also believed in what she was saying, and she took every opportunity to express her opinions on the topic, even to people who she knew already agreed with her. And although Caitlyn agreed that it was awful to be denied the right even to a name, but to be defined—by top-down command—exclusively by the type of work one did for society at a given moment, she was disinclined right at the moment to indulge Petrice’s rant. The Qunari were not going to conquer Kirkwall. Petrice’s rallies had riled up quite enough people that if the Arishok did attempt it, they would be in for a fight. If there had been no rallies, if the only opposition to the Qunari had been the violent, unsavory, unsympathetic group that had stolen the poison gas formula, perhaps the population would be more quiescent. But that was definitely not the case. The threat with which Petrice was obsessed would not come to pass, Caitlyn was sure of it. What Caitlyn was instead worried about were the human foes she faced—and their disturbing silence.

Caitlyn tried to clear her thoughts of her present mild annoyance. “You’re right,” she said briefly. “Maraas had to choose a name for himself because he had never had one, and even then, the word he chose means ‘nothing’ in his own language.”

Petrice pursed her lips at that. “That suggests that he still feels beholden to the Qun on a certain level, even though he has left it. I hope that this changes for him in the future. But I mentioned him for a reason. I think it would be very compelling to have one of these Tal-Vashoth to speak beside me at a rally, to tell the people what it is like to live under the Qun as someone who knows about it firsthand.”

“Well, he is a free man,” Caitlyn said, “so you can certainly talk to him about that. I don’t know where he lives, but he patronizes the Hanged Man in Lowtown, so you might find him there. But I should warn you, when I last worked with him, he was disinclined to take a side and wanted to avoid politics. He just wanted to go his own way.”

Petrice was visibly disappointed. “You do not think you have any influence with him, then?”

“I doubt it. He was pretty independent. It was the first time in his life that that was the case, so he didn’t want to be ‘influenced’ too much by anyone,” she said—but even as she spoke, something else jogged her memory. “Though—I just remembered something. A couple of years ago, he came to Anders’ clinic, badly injured, because some loyal Qunari had tried to kill him. He defeated them, obviously, but they mutilated his horns. He might well bear a grudge now because of that.”

Petrice’s eyes were gleaming in hunger at this information. “I will definitely seek him out, in that case,” she said. “A Qunari defector who was attacked and bears disfiguring scars because of their determination to kill those who leave! His words would be compelling indeed, I think.”

Caitlyn found it distasteful for someone who had been injured and maltreated to be exploited in such a way by someone who likely did not care two coppers about his specific, personal suffering. Petrice clearly just wanted him for a symbol. But Caitlyn supposed that a part of rallying support for a cause was to find people who had been harmed and to get them to tell their stories. It was certainly what she and Anders meant to do with their own story, and Maraas was more than capable of saying no if he wanted to keep to himself. If he did appear at one of the rallies, it would be because he had chosen to.

* * *

Mal picked up the small staff—about the size of a cane, very far from the length of a typical staff for an adult mage—and gazed ahead at the empty stone space in the basement that his parents had cleared out for him. He focused hard, his childlike face contorting in concentration—until a flurry of snow burst from the staff, propelled toward the empty space. It was small and most of it disappeared in the air before it reached the wall, but Caitlyn beamed at him. After a lesson about the basics of elemental magic, and a firm lecture on the dangers involved, Mal had managed to cast an element on his very first try. He turned back to smile proudly at his mother.

Tears were forming in her eyes as she mussed his hair. _He is growing up so fast,_ she thought, trying to blink them away. _That is the first staff I ever used, and then I passed it down to Bethany when she first did magic, but... to see my own child using it now... and then, someday, he will graduate to another one. Who will have it after him? No one will use it unless he has mage children of his own someday...._

“I’m tired, Mother,” Mal said. “I don’t know why, but it hit me suddenly!”

 _“Mother”?_ she thought with a pang. _What about “Mamma”? I won’t ask him about it—it’s his decision, since he isn’t being teased by other children about what he calls me—but that is painful too, since he would only do it because he thinks on his own that it sounds more mature._ “You must have used a lot of mana to cast that spell,” she said. His face fell, and she quickly spoke to reassure him. “That doesn’t mean you did anything wrong! It’s to be expected when any mage tries something they’ve never done before.”

“Even grown mages?”

“Even us,” she confirmed. “When I learn a new spell, I use up more magical energy to cast it at first. Then I get used to it and my magic adjusts. So does your father. It’ll be the same for you, dear, with practice.”

He smiled as she took his hand and they turned around together to leave the basement. As they approached the entrance to the stairs, she saw Anders. He had been standing in the shadows, holding a purring Ser Pounce-a-Lot, watching the whole time. A proud smile was on his face.

“Did you see?” Mal asked his father eagerly. “I cast snow!”

“You did!” Anders said. “And I did see you. You’re such a fast learner.”

Mal managed a sleepy smile as they led him to his bedroom.

* * *

“Is everything all right, darling?”

Caitlyn had been seated at the vanity in their bedroom, staring blankly into the Tevinter glass mirror, but not even looking at her reflection. She turned around and found Anders gazing at her with concern. She forced a mild smile on her face. “I’m fine,” she said.

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed preoccupied all evening, even when you were practicing spells with Mal.”

Suddenly the tears that she had been holding back filled the corners of her eyes again. She blinked furiously, trying to stop them from coming, and whipped her head back around so that he wouldn’t see.

“Hey,” he said, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms gently around her. “It’s all right. You can let them fall in front of me. Don’t be ashamed....”

She leaned into his embrace, allowing her cheeks to become wet, even though it did embarrass her. Anders had not even been able to see Mal’s first three years; what would he think when he learned why she was so emotional tonight? But she had to tell him now, she realized.

“He called me ‘Mother,’” she choked out. “Not ‘Mamma.’ He must think ‘Mother’ sounds more grown-up. And tonight was the first time he used a staff. _My_ first staff. And Bethany’s, after I....” She swallowed. _Grew out of it,_ she thought. “Had a more powerful one,” she finished weakly.

Anders realized what she had avoided saying. He held her, letting her get it all out.

“And I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him. “I know you missed his earliest years due to the inexcusable cruelty of others, so I have no right to cry to _you_ about _this,_ the normal development of a healthy child—”

“Don’t say that,” he said. “Don’t shame yourself for having feelings.” He sighed heavily and choked back a sudden sob of his own. “I wish I could give you another child,” he whispered next to her ear. “I wish that more than almost anything—well, anything that might actually be possible. Obviously I wish that your father and sister were still with us, but that’s....” He choked again. “Having another child could not replace the years with _him_ that I missed, but you’re right to cry that he is growing up and you... we... won’t be able to....”

“To experience these things again with a little brother or sister for him,” she finished. “They happen, so brief and fleeting, and then the moments are gone, and we’ll never get to see them again for another child. I won’t be ‘Mamma’ again... and when he outgrows that staff, there will be no one....” Her face was wet and hot from crying. She suppressed a hiccup. “Maybe—Lady Cousland _did_ send that potion that she thinks might be a cure for the Calling. Maybe that Warden Avernus could....”

Anders had tried not to dwell on his infertility, to focus instead on the miracle of finding his family again, but he could not banish that very hope from his own mind, even though he had no word that any such research was in progress. He  _knew_ it was a dangerous hope, one that could get them both badly hurt if he allowed himself to believe in it without cause, but it was still one that nagged in his thoughts, unable to be put down for good. “I could suggest it,” he finally said. “I don’t know how important it is to anyone else. Your brother, maybe. The Warden-Commander isn’t trying to conceive, of course. But the King of Ferelden....” He sighed. “Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

She swallowed another sob and tried to control herself. “It’s part of life to watch children grow up,” she whispered. “Someday, I will be too old to have children. At least, I hope so,” she said in a bit of dark humor. “Still... this is different from that, and I didn’t think it would hurt this much. I was upset for  _you_ when you first told me, in 9:31. I didn’t think about myself then. He was still a toddler then, and I just... couldn’t imagine him older, even though I knew, of course, that he would be. But now....” She extricated herself from his embrace and gazed ahead unhappily. “I feel  _awful_ about being so sad about this.  _You_ were the one who missed things that he did. I saw all of his milestones. But I think we both wanted more children....”

He wrapped her tightly in his arms again, determined not to let her go. “We did,” he said in a whisper. “We wanted a lot of things then.” He stroked her hair gently and sadly.

“I think we would have been happy with that simple life. Father wanted to be a freeholder, you know. We were tenant farmers. He wanted to own his own farm at last. I... don’t think we could have stayed in Lothering much longer if you and Father had come back, but maybe we would have moved....” She trailed off; _where_ could they have moved? The only place in Ferelden that was not affected by the Blight, the brutal civil war, or the Architect’s war was Gwaren. That was the only place in Ferelden where she could have lived out her peaceful dream. They certainly could not have come to Kirkwall if Malcolm Hawke, known here for being the apostate who had eloped with a noblewoman, was with them. And then what would have become of the additional children she and Anders would have had? Mal was a mage, and if he’d had any siblings— _if he does have any in the future,_ she thought in sad determination, even though she did not believe it herself—they likely would be mages too. The large family with Anders that she pined for would forever have had a sword hanging over it, the sword of the Templar Order. _Even now that is the case,_ Caitlyn thought, _but we have a plan to fight and win, rather than hide and run and condemn our children to do the same._

“It couldn’t have happened,” she finally whispered, clinging to him, as the realization filled her. “We would have had to hide just like my parents did, and with every child we would have had, we would have had an additional fear: ‘Will this one be taken away?’ I do not think that my sister had to die... or that _all_ of our suffering was truly necessary... but the dream of that simple, quiet life was always impossible for us, one way or the other.” She swallowed hard. “I just hope....” The tears started again. “It’s hard enough to watch him grow up. I don’t want to lose even more... to be taken from him, and from you, _because_ of achieving my ambitions and working to bring about that change. I think it is on the cusp of happening, the fulfillment of the ambition, I mean,” she said, realizing that her tension about the period of quiet on the political front was another source of her emotional distress. _Something_ was about to happen; she could feel it, and after it did, things would probably move quickly. If she was right, major change to their lives was coming swiftly, and that was frightening.

“We are the ones who will change the world,” he said. “I know how that sounds... but I think it’s true.”

“So do I,” she managed, giving him another hug. “I just hope that we don’t have to sacrifice too much more to do it. If we’d had that simple life, we would’ve lived in helpless fear... but we have had a taste of normal life these past three years and I don’t want to lose it now. Maybe that is selfish, but so be it. I know that we are working to create a world where other mages can have what we couldn’t, but _I_ want some things too now, things for _us._ What we have now does not have to be sacrificed, and I am determined that it won’t.”

He held her, enveloping her smaller body completely in his arms like the protector that he wanted to be, caressing her, massaging the tension out of her shoulders, and stroking her hair. It was down her back once again. “I will write to Vigil’s Keep about... the other,” he said, not needing to elucidate. “I have no idea if they are even working on it. Since King Alistair is a Warden, and he’s the last of his line, it seems like they might be... but I don’t know. If it isn’t possible, then at least we will know.”

She finally shed the last of her tears and nodded, squeezing him tightly. “There is a lot of peace in knowing something for certain, even if it is a sad thing. It doesn’t gnaw at you as much. It’s why, when Carver brought Father’s body back but you were in the Circle....” She broke off, not needing to finish.

He understood. “And for what it’s worth, my love... I’m so glad that we have what we do. It’s so much more than what I feared... what I  _thought,_ what we both thought, for a time.”

“You’re right,” she said, her voice barely audible.

He smiled. “You’re  _here._ Mal is  _here._ We are a family. A small one, but a real one. We’re training our son in magic and then falling into each other’s arms at night as a couple. I was able to honor my promise to your father for Carver and your mother. And someday, I think—maybe someday soon—the fears will lift.”

She nodded, feeling at peace.  _What would I do without you?_ she thought as they headed to bed.

* * *

Caitlyn was much calmer the next morning, after a night of snuggling and closeness. As Anders sat down at the desk to write a letter to the Fereldan Wardens before heading to the clinic, she realized that she should probably write one herself—but one that would likely need to go much further. _Something is about to happen,_ she thought again, as she scratched out a quick note to “Nightingale, Left Hand of the Divine.” _And if it involves the Grand Cleric, it’s important that Justinia know whom to appoint to replace Elthina._

Anders sent his letter by a courier and tramped down to the clinic with Mal in tow. Reliable couriers who took mail to Ferelden were easy to find in Kirkwall; Highever was the closest port to the city, and since the restoration of the Cousland line, trade flowed freely and frequently. Most Fereldan post went on those ships. But a journey to Val Royeaux was much longer and more expensive, so ships did not arrive and depart as frequently, and therefore couriers to the Orlesian capital were harder to come by. Caitlyn sent Orana to the harbor with the sealed letter and a handful of coins that ought to cover the expense. As she waited for Orana to return, a knock sounded on the front door.

Caitlyn answered the door herself and found herself facing a messenger bedecked in what had to be Orlesian clothing. It seemed almost feminine to her, in fact; his doublet and breeches were puffed and tucked to an absurd degree, and a hat with an enormous white feather topped his head.  _Anders wears feathers so much better_ , she thought.

The man bowed deeply. “Greetings, madame. I am here to deliver messages from Duke Prosper de Montfort of Orlais to the gentlefolk of Kirkwall,” he said in a heavily accented voice.

Caitlyn accepted the scroll he offered her, which was tied with fancy ribbon and sealed with a wax imprint of a wyvern. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly. This was probably one of the Duke’s own people, she realized; she had certainly never noticed a personage like this in town among the usual couriers. “I suppose the Duke has paid you—”

The man nodded quickly.  _“Oui,_ madame. You owe me nothing.”

Baldwin got to his feet and barked curiously at the odd-looking man. The Orlesian’s plucked eyebrows rose high on his face. “Oh! This is one of the famous mabari of Ferelden, is it not?” he said to Caitlyn. Something else caught his attention before she could respond. “And a little kitty-kitty too!”

Caitlyn forbore from rolling her eyes. “Yes,” she said, shooing the cat and dog away. “My purebred mabari Baldwin and my husband’s cat Pounce.” She was not sure why she had not said Pounce’s full name; the Orlesians certainly had no right to judge anything for being ostentatious and silly. And if the messenger looked like this, Caitlyn was scarcely able to imagine what the Duke himself dressed like.

“My Duke has a fine pet as well,” the messenger said, smiling, as he doffed his hat to her. “He hopes that you will be able to meet him and his pet Leopold soon. Good day to you, madame.”

She closed the door behind the departing courier and carried the elaborate scroll over to her desk, popping the seal and untangling the ribbon as she did. She flattened the scroll on the desktop and read the letter, exasperation filling her with every word.

 

_To Lady Leandra Amell Hawke, Lady Caitlyn Hawke, Warden Anders, Warden Carver Hawke, and Serah Malcolm Hawke II:_

_It is my honor to invite your family to my wyvern hunt at Chateau Haine this Summerday, an annual tradition of my House. I also offer the hospitality of my chateau to all attendees. As you may know, I am the first cousin once removed of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene of Orlais, and I flatter myself that the accommodations I offer my guests please the Empress herself._

_I apologize and humbly beg your pardon for failing to issue this invitation to you in Dragon 9:32 or 9:33; I was unaware of the restoration of your family manor and title until recently. The hunt and party are greatly anticipated social events for certain nobility of Orlais, the Free Marches, and Ferelden, and I dearly hope that you will forgive my oversight and grace the chateau with your presence._

__

_Cordially,_

_Duke Prosper de Montfort of House Montfort of Orlais_

_Chateau Haine_

 

Caitlyn threw the scroll down in extreme annoyance. _“Something is about to happen”?_ she thought mockingly. _Something, indeed—an invitation to an arrogant Orlesian duke’s hunting party, apparently! “Serah Malcolm Hawke II.” Who told him to refer to Mal that way? I’ve never written his name as “the Second” in my life, and it’s not even correct in his case since he’s named for Anders too. And “the accommodations please the Empress herself”! What a pompous arse._ She did not want to go; it seemed like an event that she wouldn’t enjoy at all, but at the same time, the politically ambitious part of her realized that it might be necessary to attend an event like this, especially if her Hightown allies were also going. _I’ll have to find out if Ser Marlein and Comte de Launcet are planning to attend_ , she thought sourly. Still, this was extremely irritating. Summerday was only a month away. If the rapidly growing tensions in Kirkwall did not get resolved very soon, she might be out of town at the climax of events. That would be a disaster.

She was still shaking her head and fuming when Anders and Mal returned home for lunch. When she passed him the letter to read, and he quickly began to guffaw at it, she managed a smile at last. “I probably have to go, though,” she said reluctantly.

“I see your point, but what did wyverns ever do to us?” Anders asked, passing it back to her with a grin.

“I haven’t even told you about the messenger himself. Listen to this.” She launched into a colorful description of the courier’s clothing and manner.

“He referred to Pounce as a ‘little kitty-kitty’?” Anders said indignantly when she reached that part. He bent down and scooped up the yellow cat, who was rubbing on his ankles. The cat meowed in agreement with Anders. “That’s exactly right, Pounce. You’re a ferocious Warden cat, aren’t you?” Another meow sounded from his lap, and Mal chuckled at his father.

Leandra spoke up. “It is a shame that Carver probably won’t be able to go. I remember the Montfort hunting parties. My family was always invited, along with several other Kirkwall noble families, including the de Launcets.”

_I suppose I do have to go, then,_ Caitlyn thought.  _They are one family I’m cultivating._ She dreaded it, but it seemed inevitable.

“You don’t have to dress in the Orlesian style, though, especially if you hunt,” she assured her daughter. “Few did, at least in my day. It is not the Imperial Court, however much the Duke may wish to leverage his connections, and it is also technically located in the Free Marches.”

_At least there is that,_ she thought.

* * *

“So, it looks as if I really do have to go to this foppish Orlesian hunt,” Caitlyn groused to Varric and Merrill after visiting Ser Marlein and Comte de Launcet—his silly wife and daughters, in fact, rather than the man himself. She had at least learned a useful piece of information from Comtesse Dulci—their son, Emile, was a Circle mage and she was extremely unhappy about being unable to see him—but the visit had otherwise been wretched. The daughters were snooty and rude, despite their mother’s feeble attempts to make them behave appropriately to a guest, and the comtesse herself was deeply ignorant of anything except social gossip. Still, from what Caitlyn could glean from that gossip, it was apparent that most of the people in Hightown whom she wanted to cultivate—or who Ser Marlein thought were sympathetic to mages—had been invited.

“Eh, I don’t envy you,” Varric said. “Sorry, Hawke. That’s tough.”

“As Anders said, what did wyverns ever do to us?” she said wryly. “Dragons, yes—but I’ve only killed the dragons that threatened me. I wouldn’t hunt them for the thrill of it. Everything about this is distasteful to me. Still,” she said, trying to be philosophical, “I guess I have to look at it as an important opportunity to make connections and allies.”

Varric nodded. “That’s the only way to get through shit like this.”

She was about to chuckle darkly in agreement with him when the group was attacked from all sides.

Her eyes were wide with shock as one Antivan Crow after another emerged from the alleys to attack them. “What in the  _Void_ is this?” she screamed, felling them with fireballs, trying to avoid the whisper of temptation in her brain to use blood magic.

They kept coming. Clearly, Caitlyn—or one of her friends—had made an enemy with very deep pockets, but she had no idea who it was or what offense she had supposedly committed. This did not seem like the way that Elthina or Meredith would operate, certainly not Meredith, but she could not fathom whom else she had offended this much.

Crows continued to emerge, and at last Caitlyn gave in. She did not need to wound herself; she had already been cut in combat, so she took the path of least resistance and used the open wound to cast a powerful mass hemorrhage on the Crows.  _I’m glad Anders didn’t see that,_ she thought.  _Or Fenris._ They were on the same block as Fenris’s house. She wondered if the commotion might draw his attention. The street was oddly deserted.

As the enemies staggered, blood suddenly dripping from their midsections, an elf leaped from a nearby rooftop and unsheathed two sharp daggers from her back. Without waiting a second, she began to stab and slice the Crows’ throats.

At last the Crows fell to the ground, gurgling out their lives, and the elf turned around with a flourish, sheathing her blades again.

“You’re Hawke,” she said.

Caitlyn was on her guard at once. The appearance of this person seemed far too convenient. “I am,” she said suspiciously. “And you are?”

“I am called Tallis.”

“Right,” Caitlyn said. That did not seem like an Elvhen name to her, either in the Dalish or the alienage linguistic tradition, but she was hardly a scholar in Elvhen languages, so she supposed she could be wrong. “Pleased to meet you. I’m grateful for your help, though I have to ask....”

“I didn’t hire them,” Tallis said at once. “I followed them because they were pursuing you, and so was I.”

“Apparently. I know why _they_ were pursuing me, obviously—though I don’t know at whose behest—but I still don’t know why _you_ were.”

Tallis forced an irritated scowl off her face. “I heard that you were invited to the Orlesian duke’s hunting party,” she said. At these words, Caitlyn’s suspicions rose even more; how could anyone know that except some sort of spy? “You’re going, then?”

Something about Tallis’s voice severely grated on Caitlyn’s nerves. It was petulant, impatient, and entitled. She tried to put that aside, telling herself that this irritation was triggered by the fact that she was suspicious of Tallis’s fortuitous appearance. “You know,” she said, though her voice was still cool, “before I say anything, I’m rather curious about why you’re interested in my possible attendance at an Orlesian party.”

Tallis suppressed a huff. “All right. The Duke... has something that he has no right to have. It’s a gem. A gem called ‘Heart of the Many.’ I need you to get it back.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes sharply. “What do you think I am, some sort of hired thief?”

Tallis shifted. “I heard that....”

“If that’s what you heard about me, you need a new source,” she said. “If the Duke really did steal a gem from you, I am willing to help recover your rightful property _peacefully,_ but I need a lot more proof than _this.”_

“Look,” Tallis said, “I thought it’d be an adventure.”

“I don’t trust you,” Caitlyn said. “I only received my invitation to Duke Prosper’s estate this morning. The only way you could have known is if you were spying on the messenger’s stops in Hightown or had already spied on the Duke’s estate itself.”

“I just said he has something that he has no right to have. How do you suppose I know that?”

Caitlyn tried to suppress herself from casting a flame in sheer anger. “Look, I am grateful for your assistance just now in dispatching the Crows. Still, even that raises my suspicions, honestly. You listened to them long enough to know that they were hunting me, if you’re telling the truth that you didn’t already know that they were after me. If they discussed that, they might have discussed other things. Who hired them?”

“I have no idea. Are you going to help me or not?”

The sheer entitlement in the question sparked a surge in Caitlyn’s rage that she could not suppress. A flame escaped from her right palm inadvertently and dissipated in the air. “No, I really don’t think I am,” she snarled, “and you have a lot of nerve expecting me to do it just because you ask! If you can prove that this gem is yours and you answer my questions about how you happen to know so much about my plans, then maybe we can talk, but....”

“Hawke? What’s going on?”

Caitlyn glanced up to see that Fenris had indeed been drawn out of his house by the action on the street and was approaching, the greatsword that he had won from the elven anti-Qunari fanatic in hand.

“Fenris!” she exclaimed in greeting. “We were just attacked by the Antivan Crows. Attacked on the street in broad daylight. This woman appeared toward the end of the fight to finish the stragglers off... and we’re questioning her.”

Fenris reached the group and raised his eyebrows, suspicious as well.

“She says her name is Tallis and that she wants me to recover a gem from an Orlesian duke that’s called ‘Heart of the Many,’” Caitlyn explained to him. “I admit I’m suspicious, because I was just invited to this duke’s chateau this very morning....”

“Hawke,” Fenris said quietly, his gaze darting warily to Tallis, “let’s talk alone. You need to know two things.”

Tallis suddenly looked ready to grab her daggers off her back and attack, but Varric and Merrill were faster. Merrill froze her in place with a telekinetic spell and Varric took the opportunity to relieve her of her visible weapons.

“‘Tallis’ is a Qunlat word,” Fenris said. “It means ‘one who solves problems’... or _‘assassin.’_ And ‘Heart of the Many’ is the translation of the Qunlat word ‘Ben-Hassrath,’ who are... more or less... the ‘priests’ of the Qun. As well as the assassins, spies, and cultural enforcers,” he said, glaring darkly at Tallis. “It’s the only way a woman is allowed to carry blades in the Qun.”

Caitlyn reached for her staff at once. This was worse than her darkest suspicions, which had been that Tallis had hired the Crows and was lying about it.  _“Is that so?”_ she growled.

Tallis glared back. “You don’t know the full truth.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” she agreed tartly, “and I’m also sure that you’re not going to tell it to me! A Qunari spy and assassin! And you actually planned to lie and trick me into working for them! It’s not a gem at all, is it, since ‘Heart of the Many’ means something very important to the Qunari?” She glowered, her sharp mind working quickly. “This is espionage, isn’t it?”

“You don’t understand,” the elf repeated. “Why don’t you let me talk?”

“Because you’ll say whatever you need to say to achieve your objective,” she replied. “You’ve already proven that. You’ll have the chance to talk, don’t worry about _that—_ but I think you need to meet a couple of people first.”

* * *

Petrice was waiting in the Lowtown house when Caitlyn and her friends marched Tallis inside, her hands bound and her daggers—as well as a flask of a poisonous chemical bomb—removed from her person. Behind her was... well, not  _Ser_ Varnell anymore, Caitlyn supposed, and he was no longer wearing Templar armor, but she wasn’t surprised at all that he was still in town. Anders was also standing in the doorway, waiting for her, having received Merrill’s message before the priest had received Varric’s. Mal was apparently at home with Leandra, for which Caitlyn silently thanked him.

Tallis’s sharp gaze darted from the ring on Caitlyn’s left ring finger to the one on Anders’. “So, you’re the husband behind her throne?” she said to him.

“You’re making friends everywhere today, aren’t you?” Caitlyn muttered, trying to suppress her magic from bursting out again.

Anders looked as though he had been on the cusp of making a joke, but the glower on Caitlyn’s face changed his mind. “She doesn’t have a throne, but if she did, I’d stand  _beside_ her,” he said instead. He peered back at the Qunari elf. “And you converted to the Qun. How did that happen? Did you just wake up one morning and decide, ‘what I really need in my life is a big guy with horns telling me everything I should think’?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said petulantly. “You have apparently never looked at the world and wondered where the justice is, the equality.”

_Oh, no,_ Caitlyn thought. She grimaced, clapping her right hand over her eyes, not even wanting to look.  _Here goes everything, if he loses control...._

_“Do not_ tell me that I don’t long for equality and  _justice!”_ he exploded. Caitlyn peeked through her fingers; at least the eponymous spirit had not taken him over, but as she brought her hand away from her face, she noticed that Petrice and Varnell were rather taken aback by this vehement reaction. “You have no idea, you little—” He broke off, shaking his head and glaring darkly. “The Qunari make the Circle of Magi look like a pleasant vacation.”

“Yes,” said Tallis defiantly.

“And you’re—”

Caitlyn cut in before this got any worse. “That’s enough, Anders. We all know what the Qunari do to mages, and I wouldn’t expect one of them, least of all a willing convert, to have a problem with it. Tallis. You wanted a chance to talk, and you’ll have that, but first, you’re going to answer my questions.”

Tallis shifted. “This is not the proper procedure,” she protested. “Why have you taken me here, to this...  _place..._ instead of to the official authorities?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Caitlyn said. “You said you wanted the chance to talk. Now you have it, and I strongly suggest that you tell the truth about what you intended.”

“Are you going to execute me?”

“I will if you lie again, including by omission. Tell the truth and I’ll spare you,” she said coolly. Varnell shook his head and grunted in disapproval, and Petrice’s lips thinned as well, but she was not going to let them bully her. As infuriated as she was that Tallis had intended to involve her in Qunari plotting without her knowledge, executing a helpful prisoner seemed exactly like murder to her, no matter who or what Tallis was.

Tallis scowled. “And if I’m truthful, what I get is a prison cell.”

“You’re a spy. What did you expect would happen if you got caught, especially in Kirkwall, where your own Arishok currently sits, issuing almost daily threats to the city about ‘the Qun demanding an accounting’?” She breathed heavily. “This just further confirms something to me. If your people even engage in diplomacy, you would be the sort of person who would be a diplomat... yet the Arishok didn’t order you to do that recently.”

“I’m not acting on the Arishok’s orders.”

She peered skeptically at Tallis. “He is the leader of your people, and you take commands from your leaders.”

“There are three leaders, and I report to the Ariqun.”

“That’s actually true,” Fenris said quietly.

Caitlyn persisted. “Are you telling me that if the Arishok issued a command to you, you wouldn’t be bound to obey it?”

Tallis scowled at the floor. “All right, I would, but he hasn’t ordered me to do anything. I’m not sure he even knows that I am here.”

It appeared that Caitlyn was going to have to pry answers out of Tallis as though using pliers. Gritting her teeth, she continued. “Then why  _are_ you here? And what is at Duke Prosper’s chateau that you wanted?”

Tallis hesitated for a moment, evidently contemplating a prison sentence versus a death sentence, before answering. “There is a list of... agents... who live in Orlais.”

“Spies, you mean.”

“You don’t understand,” she repeated once again. Caitlyn found that she was getting extremely sick of hearing that condescending statement. “He will get it from a Tal-Vashoth. That’s one who—”

“I know what a Tal-Vashoth is, so don’t tell me I don’t understand _that,”_ she snapped.

“Right. Well, he’ll have them killed. I just want to save innocent lives.”

“You have an interesting definition of innocence,” Caitlyn said. “They are spies for a hostile power. In our countries, that’s treason—and I suspect that in Par Vollen, spies for Tevinter would also be regarded as traitors.”

“Some of them have families!” she exclaimed. “Their spouses and children will be killed too!”

“Oh, so there are spies for the Qunari who do something that is forbidden by the Qun?” Caitlyn retorted. “I told you not to lie.”

“Some of them have left the Qun!” Tallis pleaded. “Look, Hawke, I’m not doing this on _anyone’s_ orders, actually. I really am not. The Ariqun... the Ben-Hassrath... have written them off as acceptable losses. I... disagree with that.” She seemed frightened by the words she had just uttered, but she soldiered on. “I just want to save their lives.”

For the first time since she had encountered Tallis, Caitlyn thought that there might be some sincerity in the elf’s voice that wasn’t just angrily defiant or self-righteous.  _If she isn’t lying about this...._ Quickly she made her decision. “We have contacts in Orlais,” she said. “I’ll send word to make sure every one of these people is checked out before the Duke does anything, and I’ll also make sure that spouses and children aren’t punished.”

Petrice seemed torn for a moment, as this clearly was meant to encompass her as an Orlesian by birth, but she also was aware of Caitlyn’s correspondent relationship with the Left Hand of the Divine. After that moment of hesitation, she nodded.

“I think it’s time to take you to meet the Captain of the Guard now,” Caitlyn said to Tallis. “If your story checks out, you won’t be put to death.”

Tallis’s eyes widened in despair as the group, minus the former Templar who was hiding from the Grand Cleric, marched her out of the shack.

* * *

Aveline quickly understood the situation and had Tallis locked up in a holding cell, making sure that a female guard strip-searched her for all knives, poison flasks, and lock-picking tools first. There were several of these hidden in her leathers, so she certainly would have been able to escape.

After that, they left the jail and headed to the Keep. Viscount Dumar was extremely distressed by the story that Caitlyn, Petrice, and the others shared with him. He had already been taken aback when they interrupted a meeting he was having with Elthina and Sebastian, and the story that Caitlyn related was even more disturbing to him.

He wrung his hands fiercely as Caitlyn concluded her narrative with Tallis’s imprisonment. “I don’t know,” he said in a whiny, weak tone. “I just don’t know... the Arishok... he might take offense if we imprison one of them....”

“Viscount, this is _your city.”_

“Yes, but you told me that he tried to have me assassinated before. I don’t want to provoke him.”

Caitlyn sucked in her breath sharply, disgusted with this weakness.

“Tallis claimed that the Arishok might not even know that she was here,” Petrice offered, her eyes gleaming. “You could just order her execution and he might not ever know.”

_Check your bloodlust for one second, won’t you?_ Caitlyn thought. In a dark moment, she wished she could just fireball everyone here—minus Anders and her friends. That moment passed when she felt Anders’ hand gently touch her shoulder. She breathed, relaxing, as Dumar spoke again.

“No!” he exclaimed. “I can’t do that! She is a female elf, even if she has converted to the Qun, and she is not guilty of murder.”

“That we know of,” muttered Anders.

Dumar did not hear him. “It would be unseemly. I know what to do,” he said at once, as if the greatest idea in the world had occurred to him. “I should turn her over to her own people. You said that you are going to have the ones who are innocent protected anyway, after all. Yes, that’s what I will do.”

Caitlyn could scarcely believe this, even from Viscount Dumar. She supposed, with a gulp of regret, that she had set the precedent by returning the delegates to the Arishok even when they had meant to assassinate Dumar, but still, it seemed a lot worse to return a known spy than a group of soldiers who had to follow orders under penalty of death. Petrice looked utterly infuriated, and even Anders and their friends were staring at Dumar’s back with contempt as he led the way to the jail. Elthina and Sebastian remained behind.

* * *

When Aveline reached the cell block where Tallis was being held, she sucked in her breath sharply at the sight before her. Saemus Dumar, the Viscount’s son, was talking quietly with Tallis through the bars of her cell door.

“What are you doing here?” Dumar exclaimed to his son. “You aren’t allowed here alone and you know it! Get out!”

When Saemus drew away from the cell, Caitlyn instantly noticed the soppy, lovestruck expression on his young face.  _You utter fool,_ she thought.  _Don’t you know that the Qunari would not let you have a sweetheart, let alone a Ben-Hassrath?_ Saemus scampered away, turning back once to give Tallis a parting smile, as Caitlyn shook her head.

Tallis was horrified when she was told her fate. Behind her bars, she got on her knees, pleading desperately, her eyes wide with terror.  _“Please!”_ she begged. “Please don’t turn me over to the Arishok!”

Caitlyn folded her arms across her chest. “In my opinion, the Viscount is showing you more mercy than you deserve. I would have kept you in this cell. Why are you so obviously scared of his justice?”

She cast her gaze down at the floor for a moment before looking Caitlyn in the eye again. Her eyes were still wide and frightened. “I was telling the truth when I said I was acting on my own, without being ordered,” she burst out. “The Arishok... if he learned that....”

“But you said you wanted to help save lives. Surely he will be persuaded to show mercy because of that,” Dumar said, even as Petrice scoffed audibly and Caitlyn and Anders shook their heads in silent derision.

Tallis stared back at him in disbelief. Finally, she croaked, all the bravado and petulance finally gone from her voice, “There was something else I haven’t told you yet.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Caitlyn said. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Tallis closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, then let it out in a whoosh. “I can prove what I’m about to say. Earlier, Hawke mentioned that my presence here seemed further confirmation to her that there had been an assassination attempt on you, Viscount, since I am Ben-Hassrath but wasn’t sent to the Keep to negotiate. I can confirm that it absolutely was an assassination squad that you thwarted, Hawke—and moreover, that the present Grand Cleric knew that and wanted it to reach him!”

Petrice drew breath sharply. Caitlyn’s eyes widened in shock, as did those of everyone else present—but she instantly distrusted this reveal. “You had  _better_ be able to prove that,” she said at once.

Tallis rummaged through her leathers, withdrawing a small book that had not been confiscated when she was locked in the cell. She paged through it, at last finding a short note that she took out and handed to the Viscount without a word. As he read it, everyone else clustered nearby, hovering near him to read it as well.

 

_M—_

_The arrangements are complete and both troublemakers are on their way to Darktown. I hardly care whether the oxmen or the terrorists kill them. If they happen to diminish the numbers of the oxmen too greatly for the squad to complete its mission, the deaths of the “delegates” should still provoke the Arishok sufficiently. Either way, you should let the oxmen in if they do arrive, and whether they do or not, you should vacate the Keep at once and come to the Chantry as soon as possible for your own safety. Seneschal Bran unfortunately had to be told that I allegedly wanted to “save” the delegates and let them into the Keep, but he will die in the attack, so that loose end will be tied off. Come to the Chantry as soon as you can._

_E._

 

Viscount Dumar began to shake and sweat, almost tearing the letter that he held. “This... this is her handwriting,” he whispered. “I have seen it too often not to recognize it....”

_“Treason,”_ Petrice whispered in undisguised glee.

“How did you come by this?” Caitlyn exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. This was the very thing she had feared when she had dealt with the squad the previous week, that Elthina had known their true intent and had wanted them to reach Dumar after killing her, Petrice, and Elthina’s other enemies.

“I’ve followed a lot of people around,” Tallis replied. “I intercepted her messenger. Bought him a drink. No, I did not seduce him,” she added when Caitlyn narrowed her eyes at her. “He had no idea what was going on or he wouldn’t have allowed my attentions to delay him. I switched the note with a decoy when he was sleeping it off, but apparently you folks had already dealt peacefully with the Arishok’s delegates when he woke up.”

“The Arishok’s assassins,” Caitlyn corrected pointedly. “I don’t suppose you know whom the note was intended for.”

“No. I was just gathering interesting intelligence, and when I learned what had happened, I didn’t think I would need it, but I still kept the note just in case. As I said, I just want to save lives.”

_It was intended for someone with the initial M,_ Caitlyn thought.  _Mettin, the Templar who serves... or used to serve, at least... in the Viscount’s office? Or... Meredith?_ She spared a sideways glance at Anders and realized that he was pondering this very question.

“Please don’t give me to the Arishok,” Tallis pleaded again, pleased with the reaction of her captors to this letter and hopeful that it would make them understand.

Dumar passed the letter to Caitlyn at last and then turned back to the prisoner. “No,” he said dumbly. “Of course not.”

Anders took Caitlyn’s hand as they variously stormed, pranced, or trembled back up the stairs out of the jail. Even though they were walking very quickly, he was able to caress her, soothing her nerves a bit. She turned to him gratefully, trying to catch her breath.  _I was right,_ she thought.  _It’s happening. I just hope my note to Leliana wasn’t too late._

* * *

Elthina was obviously not expecting the group to return with a provable accusation of high treason. Dumar was unable to even utter the words, his voice failing him halfway through the explanation, as he turned aside faintly. Caitlyn picked up where he left off.  _Her_ strength was not lagging in the least.

“And so,” she continued fiercely, “the Ben-Hassrath was able to produce this note, which she said she intercepted from your messenger in a pub. Not only does it make perfect sense with the sequence of events that took place, Viscount Dumar recognized the handwriting as yours!”

Elthina stared back in utter fury. Beside her, Sebastian placed a hand on her shoulder to offer moral support, and he glared back at Caitlyn as well, but did not interrupt his mentor. “How  _dare_ you accuse me, you arrogant Fereldan upstart!” she snarled. “And on the word of an elven Qunari spy!”

“Who had a note in _your handwriting.”_

“Lies! She obviously forged it!”

Petrice stepped forward, smirking. “You knew that the seal was taken,” she said. “I know this for a fact. You thought I didn’t. You knew it was taken, and I thought it was only because you wanted to get Serah Hawke, Varnell, and me killed—but clearly, you intended much more than that.”

“You snake,” sneered Elthina. She reached in her priestly robes. Caitlyn gasped, instantly realizing what the priest was going to do, and ducked, pulling Anders down with her.

Elthina’s knife barely missed Petrice’s forehead. It thudded into the carpet behind her.

“All right,” Dumar said, finally finding something approximating a spine. He stepped forward. “That’s quite enough! Grand Cleric, I must insist....”

“Are you really going to condemn her on the basis of a document from a Qunari spy?” Sebastian said. “They do not believe in Andraste and the Maker. It would be in their interest to remove the religious leadership of Kirkwall.”

“Did you not see that she just threw a knife at my head? If that’s not an admission of guilt, what is? And you speak as though there is no one who could—” Petrice began.

“I demand the right to a trial!” exclaimed Elthina. “A trial by the Chantry, not the secular authorities who deal with common criminals. I am a high priest of Our Lady Andraste—”

“And a traitor,” put in Anders.

“Close your lips, _Warden,”_ she said, sneering the word out sarcastically.

“You will have a trial,” said Dumar.

“Viscount,” Caitlyn said, turning to him, “she is accused of conspiring against you. She should be tried in Kirkwall’s court, whatever she may think.”

He considered for a moment. “You are right, Hawke.” He motioned for Aveline to take her into custody.

“This is an outrage!” Elthina exclaimed as Aveline approached her.

“I do as I am bid... Grand Cleric. You are under arrest for high treason against the Viscount of Kirkwall,” Aveline said, taking her arms and cuffing them.

“I need a tonic,” declared Dumar. “I cannot believe....”

Sebastian stared bleakly as she was marched away to the cells. He gave one look at Caitlyn, Anders, and their companions, dismay and reproof in his face, then shook his head and shuffled away.

* * *

Word that the Grand Cleric had been arrested for treason spread like wildfire. By the time Caitlyn and Anders had seen all their friends home—and she remembered, at last, that Isabela had been absent for this event too—the news had already reached Hightown. Ser Marlein Selbrech and Dulci de Launcet were visiting when Caitlyn and Anders reached the Hawke house.

“Shocking!” exclaimed the Comtesse. “I can hardly believe it!”

“Why not?” Anders said daringly as he took a seat beside his overexcited son.

“Well, she is a priest, after all.”

“She’s been useless in this entire crisis, and she has never taken any interest in helping most people in Kirkwall,” he argued. “She’s never permitted a copper of charity to the refugees or the elves of the alienage, and when flu struck the Fereldan population in 9:32, she even backed Knight-Commander Meredith in refusing me Circle Healers to help quell the outbreak.”

Madame de Launcet was struck silent.

“It seems that we will soon have new leadership in the Chantry,” ventured Ser Marlein, with a meaningful glance at Caitlyn. “After that....”

_“Do not hesitate to leap.”_ The words of Flemeth from four years ago suddenly flooded Caitlyn’s mind. She took a deep breath. “Viscount Dumar was extremely weak in this crisis too, in my opinion,” she said. “His primary concern was to avoid offending the Arishok—and this is after he knew that the Arishok tried to have him assassinated, and might try again! He even wanted to turn over the spy to the Qunari.”

“I will call the nobles of Kirkwall to a vote of no confidence in his leadership at the earliest reasonable opportunity,” said Ser Marlein.

Leandra spoke up. “But if Viscount Dumar is deposed... his son is too young to rule...  _oh!”_ She gasped in shock and covered her mouth as it hit her.

“Yes, Mother,” Caitlyn confirmed with a wry grin.

“But my dear—you are a mage!”

Caitlyn closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them and faced her noble allies. “There you are. If you hadn’t guessed already, you know now. I am a mage, married to another mage.”

“And—” Mal spoke up, then instantly closed his lips. He seemed to understand that it might be inadvisable to reveal that he had inherited his parents’ talent.

“But Mother Petrice has known this from the moment I met her—actually, even before that. And....” She took a deep breath. “The new Divine also knows it.”

“Divine Justinia... knows of you?” Ser Marlein said in surprise.

“She does. I was... friends with her Left Hand in Ferelden, before she became the Left Hand. Justinia favors Circle reform, as does Petrice.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said the landed knight.

“I am sure it will be good enough for Guillaume too,” said Madame de Launcet. “Our poor Emile... how I miss him....”

“I must ask you to keep this a secret for a while yet,” Caitlyn said. She trusted to Ser Marlein’s discretion, but perhaps not so much to Dulci de Launcet’s. “If it comes out too soon, I too would be separated from my family—from my mother, brother, husband, and son.”

“Of course,” said the Comtesse. “I shall not tell a soul except Guillaume.”

“Then _he_ needs to understand to keep it to himself.”

“I will tell him so.”

A knock sounded on the door. Leandra rose to answer it, revealing Varric.

“Hawke,” he said, nodding. “Bl—Anders. Mistress and Little Hawke. And I see I’m interrupting other guests. My apologies,” he said with a curt bow to the noblewomen. “I just thought you might be interested to know—events are moving really quickly now. The Arishok has just declared Tallis Tal-Vashoth for confirming the assassination plot on the Viscount.” He smiled grimly as he took a seat. “That also, of course, all but proves the Grand Cleric’s treason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The premise of _Mark of the Assassin_ is that a foreign spy lies and tricks Hawke into being an accessory to murder and espionage, to benefit a country that either has sacked Hawke’s city or is going to, for no real reason except that Duke Prosper is a typical noble asshole. However, he never did anything to Hawke’s family and there are several decent people at the party, including Bann/Arl Teagan and the de Launcets. (I think Leliana is there, too.) If Hawke is anything other than a non-romanced male warrior/rogue with no family left, Hawke would lose everything she values most if she lived under the Qun, so I just cannot come up with a good reason why a Hawke like Caitlyn would want to help them.
> 
> Yeah, Tallis becoming Tal-Vashoth in this AU is indeed my own petty personal vengeance custom-tailored to strike her where it would hurt the most. I admit it. But we have not heard the last of her....


	7. You're Going To Get What You Deserve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading! There is a lot going on in this chapter, and I’m not sure about it—it feels somewhat disjointed and not cohesive, but I don’t know what I would take out, and I guess perhaps that’s just what happens when you write 9000+ word chapters. Let me know!
> 
> Song is “Head Like a Hole” by Nine Inch Nails.

Caitlyn’s and Anders’ celebration of Elthina’s downfall that evening proved unfortunately premature. By the following day, the word on the street was very different: Prince Sebastian— _not_ Brother Sebastian, the couple noted with some alarm, but _Prince—_ was adamant that the note that everyone had thought proved Elthina’s treason must have been forged by the Qunari spy who produced it, and he had needled and lobbied Viscount Dumar with this argument for hours. The “fake note,” as Elthina and Sebastian were calling it, suddenly had turned into a hotly contested and controversial document overnight.

 _She has the right to make that argument at her trial,_ Caitlyn thought. _Even accused traitors have the right to defend themselves at trial—though mages sure don’t! But this could be a disaster if Sebastian manages to convince Kirkwall that we reacted too fast. Elthina has been around for years. People will believe what is easier to believe, and a forgery claim may make it easier for people to think that she is innocent. The Arishok’s decree for Tallis looks terrible, but it only confirmed the assassination plot, not Elthina’s actions._

“Fake note” was a very insidious term, Caitlyn realized, and despite its childish simplicity, quite effective—because once she heard it repeated enough, she began to question the provenance of the note herself. _Could Petrice have forged it?_ she thought. _She would know what Elthina’s handwriting looked like._ She confided this dark worry to Anders at lunch that day.

“From a purely practical standpoint, I actually don’t care if she did do it,” Caitlyn said, “so long as it _works._ And that’s the question now.”

He pondered this. “I’m not sure that she would have had the time. She had a rally that day, then she dispatched Varnell to stop the Qunari, and after that, she went to that house in Lowtown to wait for you. When would she have had the time to forge a note in Elthina’s hand so carefully that it fooled everyone and pass it to a messenger? And there must have been a messenger... unless Tallis herself was posing as one and lied.”

“And if she had been, why wouldn’t she have told us that Petrice gave her the note? She isn’t loyal to Petrice,” Caitlyn said, thinking aloud. “You’re right. And thanks so much for reminding me—of course there is a way to prove all of this. But we need to find that messenger. Even if he doesn’t know what was in the original note, or that Tallis switched it, he can confirm the rest of Tallis’s story and that Elthina gave him the note herself. At that point, doubters would have to claim that he conspired with Tallis to frame her.”

“Do you think this messenger will actually come forward, though? If this person knows who sent _and_ received the note, it seems unlikely.”

She sighed. “Unfortunately, she probably did use someone loyal to her, but I’m still going to try to find out.”

Anders forced a smile on his face, but he was still worried. “Please be careful, then.”

* * *

Petrice was in an extremely black mood when Caitlyn conferred with her later that day—not to ask her if she had written the note herself, but to plot their next move.

“We have a saying in Orlais: ‘If you aim for the Empress, you had best not miss,’” the priest said dourly. “I think it applies to the Grand Cleric too. If she wins this, she will likely strip me of my title of priest. And....” She closed her lips, apparently unwilling to speak of what might happen to Caitlyn.

Caitlyn shuddered at what was unspoken but refused to dwell on it. Petrice seemed strangely resigned to her own possible fate, though. “You seem awfully passive about that possibility,” Caitlyn ventured.

“I do not want to lose the Game. So much depends on my—our—winning. But someone must lose, and the Game is not won based on who is factually correct or morally superior, Hawke.”

 _Maker’s flaming breath, I’m glad I wasn’t raised in Orlais,_ Caitlyn thought. _What a culture! Even a zealous true believer is philosophical and resigned about “losing the Game.”_ Aloud she said, “Then we must ensure that we win. I have a plan. There is no way to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Elthina wrote that note, but I do think that _most_ of the doubts her pet prince has been sowing can be erased if the messenger can be found and made to talk.”

The priest agreed. “That would turn the tide back in our favor, no question about it. Maker guide you in your search.”

At first glance the words seemed almost blasphemous under these circumstances, but as Caitlyn headed into town to find the Templar Ser Thrask, she realized that maybe they weren’t after all.

* * *

“Serah Hawke!” Thrask exclaimed when she found him patrolling in Lowtown near the docks. He glanced quickly around, then ducked into a shadowy alley with her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” she said, suddenly alarmed. “Are you being watched?”

“Meredith is on a paranoid rampage after the accusation against Elthina yesterday. You would not believe... the Templar quarters this morning, her behavior... I was truly frightened by the way she acted. She almost seemed... possessed... or falling into lyrium sickness early. This is not a good day to be a known opponent of theirs.”

“There is no mad behavior Meredith could engage in that would surprise me. And I’ve gathered that it’s not a great day to be her foe—but I’m here to try to make it a better day, in fact,” she said tartly.

He fell silent, listening intently.

“Do you know whom Elthina used to pass messages to the Keep?” Caitlyn asked. “Specifically, whom she used to pass a note on the day that my friends and I marched the Qunari delegates through Lowtown?”

Thrask seemed uncomfortable speaking.

“Ser Thrask,” Caitlyn said impatiently, “this is _important._ Elthina is likely to convince the people of Kirkwall that the Qunari agent forged the letter in her hand unless that person comes forward.”

He glanced around quickly once again and answered in a low voice. “Ser Keran,” he said. “He was the Templar recruit....”

“The one who was under the influence of a demon a few years ago while in a blood mage’s custody,” she recalled. There had been an incident with a group of blood mages who were trying to force demons to possess Templars, to prove that they too could be made into abominations, and Keran had been the only survivor. The Knight-Captain, a Fereldan named Cullen Rutherford, still did not trust him after that.

Thrask nodded. “He became a Templar last year over Cullen’s objections. I thought little of it... but now, knowing what I do....”

“Do you think he is being blackmailed? I don’t suppose I need to say by whom,” she muttered.

“I think it’s possible.”

She nodded. “Talk to him. No, Ser Thrask, it needs to be you,” she said as he looked to object. “I can’t do this, nor can any of my friends or allies. We need him to testify that the Grand Cleric passed him a note that day if it did happen, and his testimony will look tainted if we produce him. This is a matter of the security _and future_ of Kirkwall. You need to show courage once again on this and so does he.”

Thrask took a deep breath and nodded.

* * *

Anders and Mal would still be at the clinic in Darktown, so while Thrask talked to Keran to try to get him to come forward, Caitlyn decided to stop by the Hanged Man and attempt to calm her nerves with her friends. The pub was rather quiet; it was still only mid-afternoon, and Caitlyn and Varric found a table in a side room with no one else there without any trouble.

“Do you need me to spread any rumors for the cause?” Varric offered.

Caitlyn laughed. “I appreciate the offer, Varric, but we’re trying to deal with truth in this instance. No offense!”

He smirked back. “None taken. You’ve got a countermove in progress, then?”

She nodded. “We know who the messenger is. Well, _I_ do. And Ser Thrask. It’s a question of whether he’ll come forward, though. The messenger, I mean.”

“Oh, if he’s been found out, he’ll come forward eventually. That’s good news. I’m glad.”

His gaze was suddenly drawn by movement on the stairs, away from her. She turned to see what he was looking at and raised her eyebrows in surprise—and satisfaction—as Isabela stared back from the landing of the second floor, caught at last and aware of it.

“Isabela,” Varric said, “why don’t you join us? All this time we thought you were about town, but here you were, in your room, all along—and _alone,_ it seems!” He smirked. “Though that’s good news for Fenris.”

Isabela gazed blankly at them for a moment, but finally, seeing that there was no way to avoid it, took a deep breath and walked downstairs.

Caitlyn tried to keep her countenance and not antagonize Isabela from the beginning. She fully intended to get her pirate friend to confess to what was going on at last, and Isabela clearly realized it as she sat down and ordered the strongest liquor that the place carried.

“We haven’t seen much of you lately,” Caitlyn began, fingering the rim of her own glass. “I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”

“Hawke,” Isabela said, looking down at the table, her voice strangely quiet and calm, “don’t play games. Just... don’t.”

Startled, Caitlyn reconsidered her approach. Isabela seemed resigned to the talk, and if that were the case, then there really wasn’t anything to be gained by cat-and-mouse forced phrasings. “All right,” she agreed at once in normal tones. “But I really do wish you would confide in us. It’s about the Qunari, isn’t it? You’re hiding from them for some reason.”

Isabela stared miserably at the tabletop.

“Isa,” said Caitlyn, leaning forward, “you’re not protecting me by keeping it from me. You _know_ I’m neck-deep in this business now, don’t you? With all the news in town lately? I appreciate your intent, that you want to protect me as a friend from this problem you’re having with them, but I’m _not_ protected.”

The pirate took a deep breath and let it out. “Oh, fuck it. Fine. You _are_ neck-deep in it, so I guess you might as well get all the way in.” She took a long pull from her glass, even as Caitlyn and Varric widened their eyes, and set it back down. “Where to even begin? I guess... all right. I wasn’t shipwrecked in the storm. I could’ve made it through that. I know how to handle storms. The tropical seas get ferocious storms that don’t form in these waters.”

Caitlyn realized at once what must have happened. “You... were attacked by the Qunari dreadnought?”

Isabela nodded.

“And their cannon... their explosive black powder....”

“My ship stood no chance against that.”

 _“Maker,”_ Caitlyn swore under her breath. “I’ve heard that their ships have weapons that can blow holes through the sides of other vessels, but that’s still very frightening to think of.”

“I was scared shitless.”

“Why were they pursuing you? Do you have a past with the Qunari? _Were_ you Qunari once, unwillingly, of course?” She could hardly imagine it, but the Qun did have adherents in Rivain. “Or had you taken something of theirs?”

Isabela’s features were forming a smirk as Caitlyn enunciated all of the possibilities. She let out a dark chuckle—

The determined barking of a Fereldan mabari interrupted the conversation.

Caitlyn was momentarily frustrated; despite Isabela’s apparent willingness to talk, the pirate’s features lifted in relief when the dog showed up. But this moment of frustration did not last. It was odd for Baldwin to show up like this without anyone else.

“What’s the matter, boy?” she asked, scratching his ears. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Varric rose from his seat. “We’d probably better go to your house.”

The dog barked.

“Is that it, Baldwin?” she asked, reaching for her staff, which she had propped up unobtrusively in a dark corner. She was about to sling it over her back when the dog growled and latched onto it with his jaws, not enough to damage it, but clearly trying to tug it away from her.

“What in the....”

Baldwin pulled the mage’s staff away from his mistress and dropped it on the floor. He stepped in front of it and barked again.

She scowled at him. “Baldwin! Bad dog! You know better than to take my staves from me....”

Varric had loaded his mechanical crossbow onto his back and was gazing at the mabari thoughtfully—and with concern. “Hawke? I’d trust the dog.”

 _“Meredith is on a paranoid rampage,”_ Caitlyn suddenly recalled that Thrask had said. With that memory, panic flooded her. “We have to go!” she cried. “The Knight-Commander—I heard that she’s lost it today—Anders is a Warden, but Mal—” At that thought, which didn’t even bear finishing aloud, she glanced at the staff even as Isabela was grabbing it up and darting up to her own room to store it. She had other staves at home, but going out to face enemies without a staff felt like cutting off her own hand. It was terrifying.

Varric sensed her unease. “Hey,” he said reassuringly, “we’ve got your back. Blondie can carry staves openly, too, so he’ll have one at hand. And I promise, I won’t let the Rivaini keep that one.”

She managed a sharp, bleak laugh as her friends and dog left with her.

* * *

Caitlyn’s heart continued to pound as she approached the doorstep. As she drew near, she heard raised voices through the front door.

“Get out of our house. You’ve long overstayed your welcome.”

“How dare you speak to me thus? Mind your tone with me, _Warden.”_

“I don’t have to grovel and defer to you. You are not the Viscountess—and you never will be!”

“That’s what is going on with Hawke, isn’t it? Where _is_ she? Tell me where she is and I’ll be on my way to find her.”

“I told you, I don’t know where she is—and if I did, I wouldn’t tell _you,_ since you still have not said what you want with her!”

 _Me,_ Caitlyn thought as she turned the doorknob. _Anders is talking about me. But he is all right, and if he’s aggressively challenging someone about me, it must mean that Mal is all right too. Who is there? A woman... could it be—_

She stepped inside, Varric and Isabela flanking her, Baldwin in front. Anders and Meredith Stannard were standing barely a foot away from each other in front of the fireplace, both of them livid. In one of the doorways stood Leandra, and Mal was clinging to his grandmother’s skirts, trembling.

Anders whirled around, unvarnished terror in his eyes—until he noticed that Caitlyn was not carrying a staff. His expression relaxed immediately.

“Knight-Commander,” Caitlyn said, ice in her tone as she stepped inside. She walked across the room to Anders and pointedly pecked him on the cheek for the Templar’s benefit. He breathed heavily, clearly wanting to do more and to talk to her, but aware that she had to fend for herself right now.

“Hawke,” Meredith barked.

Caitlyn turned aside from Anders and faced the Templar coldly. “I heard the last part of that. Since I am the person you wanted to see, but you would not tell my family what you wanted, tell me now that I am here.”

Meredith looked almost too angry to speak. Caitlyn supposed that she _had_ been deliberately provocative, and Anders had certainly had heated words with her, but she realized that Ser Thrask was right. She had never seen the woman looking this furious or crazed before. Her face was deathly white and her eyes were actually bloodshot with rage, the tiny blood vessels almost seeming to glow red. Whatever Anders had said, it surely wouldn’t have enraged her _this_ much on its own if she was still at the house.

At last Meredith managed to calm herself enough to talk. “I was interested in your whereabouts.”

“So I heard. For what?”

Meredith breathed deeply, exhaling in anger. “No matter. I changed my mind.” Without another word, she strode to the front door, walked out, and slammed it.

Caitlyn gaped at Anders as he relaxed and Mal rushed forward to hug her. Baldwin let out a happy yip and bounded in circles around his family and his mistress’s two friends. She was upset and angry to realize that Mal was very frightened and clung to her waist tightly.

When they were all certain that Meredith was gone and that no one could hear from the outside, she spoke, still keeping her voice low. “I assume she was waiting for me to show up with a staff in hand so that she could arrest me in front of all of you for maximum cruelty.”

Anders collapsed on the sofa, pulling her into his arms beside him, a sob escaping him. “I think she was,” he said. His hands stroked her shoulders as if reassuring himself that she was still with him. “I thought you went out with one, in fact. I was _terrified_ that you would show up with it and I’d have to invoke the Right of Conscription immediately, and that she might still argue....”

She smiled at the dog, who was now lying at her feet next to Pounce. “You can thank him for the fact that I didn’t. He came into the Hanged Man and tugged it right out of my hand. It’s in Isabela’s room right now.”

“Smart boy,” Anders said, scratching Baldwin’s head, a look of surprise on his own face at the fact that he was on such good terms with a dog.

Caitlyn hugged Mal closely. “And you kept your magic a secret! I’m so proud.”

He gazed up at his parents bravely. “I know I have to. I’ve known as long as I can remember—even before I knew I had magic. I had to keep _yours_ a secret from strangers and especially Templars, Mother. And now mine. I don’t want any of us to be taken away like Father was.”

She muffled a cry and felt tears fill her eyes. “You won’t have to forever,” she whispered, hugging him. “I promise you won’t. But you must until your father and I tell you it’s all right.”

Anders spoke up quietly. “For now, his age still protects him. Even though people know he has, at a minimum, a mage father and a mage grandfather on his mother’s side—and Meredith suspects that you are too—it’s very unusual for a six-and-a-half-year-old to have active magic. Even if Meredith assumes he is a mage, even _she_ can’t haul away a child unless she can prove it.” He sighed. “In three or four years, people will start to assume that he has shown magic and that we’re hiding it.”

“But Mother is going to keep her promise,” Mal told his father. “It’ll be all right then.”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, giving him a final hug.

Leandra spoke up. “There is magic in the Amell family too, and this is known in Kirkwall, though people don’t speak of it anymore.”

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows at her mother as Mal wriggled free of his parents. “I remember that you mentioned that once... a cousin....”

“My first cousin Revka. Her firstborn son was the mage. I didn’t find out about it until years later, of course... I think he would be two or three years younger than you, Caitlyn... but I heard that the Templars hauled him through the streets of Hightown with his mother sobbing behind him.”

Caitlyn glanced sharply at Leandra, reprimanding her with her eyes. Leandra realized at once how bad that was right now. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think... no, it shall never happen again, as you promised him.” She turned to her grandson apologetically. “Don’t mind what I said. Times are going to change, Mal.”

Although Mal was certainly not as innocent as he had once been, he still had the optimistic faith of a happy child, and he nodded, placated. He scrambled to the floor, then darted up the stairs to his bedroom. As Caitlyn turned back from observing his running, a smile still on her face at how positive he was, she noticed that Anders was struck silent, a look of horror on his visage.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him as Leandra rose from her seat to go to the kitchen to help Orana. “Was it what my mother said? She might have heard wrong. She wasn’t here when it happened.”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I’ll tell you later.”

“I’m not happy that they took away my second cousin, but once I have the power to restrict Meredith and open up the Circle, I’m sure I’ll get the chance to meet him at last,” she said.

Anders blanched and turned aside. “I... need to go back to the clinic.”

* * *

Caitlyn did not have the chance that evening to find out what Anders was disturbed about, because when Varric came by to return the staff to her, taking the passage through Darktown rather than carrying it in the street even in the shadows of night, he had more news as well.

“I’ve heard from our mutual pal Thrask that the messenger is going to talk tomorrow,” he remarked to Caitlyn and Anders in the living room.

“Oh, good,” she said. “That’s a relief, after what Meredith pulled today.”

“You know she’s not going to change her spots just because there is a new Grand Cleric,” the dwarf warned.

“I know. She’s likely to become even more dangerous, just in a sneaky way. But at least she won’t have as much legal power over us anymore. It’s odd... I hate it, I’ve realized... but I can handle the Game. I think I’ve done all right lately with it. So if that’s what Meredith has to do, I can counter that.”

Late that night, when she and Anders were finally in bed, he seemed disinclined to explain what had upset him earlier. “Not tonight,” he whispered to her, running his hands up her sides as he buried his face in the space between her neck and left shoulder. He breathed in, inhaling the scent of her hair—caramel and a tiny hint of musk, he decided, must be the fragrance of what she used to clean it. It was spicy and warm, like her, he thought. “I don’t want to think about anything else right now.” He kissed her deeply.

She realized that he was obviously trying to bury himself in her, metaphorically— _soon literally,_ she thought with a smirk on her face—in order to banish the terror he had felt earlier today, the stress of the whiplash about the Grand Cleric’s treason trial, and whatever dark memory had surfaced when her mother had mentioned relatives. As he continued his ministrations, and she began to return them, she decided that she understood perfectly.

* * *

Viscount Dumar had clearly been among those who had allowed Sebastian’s “forged note” explanation to worm its way into their minds the previous day. He was even more upset by the audience that Ser Keran had with him than he had been with the reveal of the incriminating note, because it did not appear that there could be any plausible explanation other than treason for what Keran would say. The comfortable illusion of the day before was shattering. Dumar wrung his hands, fidgeted, and sweated as he awaited the young Templar. Beside him were Caitlyn, Anders, Sebastian Vael, and Meredith Stannard—who clearly still loathed the very presence of her nemeses. Elthina herself was not attending, as Keran’s testimony would be made again at her trial if the Viscount deemed it credible. But Caitlyn thought, and Anders agreed vehemently, that it hardly mattered that she was absent; Sebastian and Meredith would tell her exactly what had transpired and give her time to mount another defense, if it were still possible. It was another example of the grotesque incompetence of the secular authority and the monumental corruption of Kirkwall, they agreed.

Caitlyn noticed that Anders’ face transformed into a hostile glower when Knight-Captain Cullen appeared in the courtroom of the Keep, escorting Ser Keran beside him. She recalled that Cullen had once served in the Fereldan Circle, and Anders had told her that he had been extremely afraid of magic and of his charges. She wondered if there might be more that she did not know about. In any case, Cullen at least seemed to be giving Keran another chance; the look on his face was a mix of disappointed sadness and pride.

“At least he seems to have confidence in Keran now,” she said in an undertone to Anders.

He scoffed, though his contempt was not directed at her and she knew that. “Yes, he’s evolved enough to accept that a Templar who was captured by blood mages isn’t too contaminated to live. Let’s give him a medal, shall we? Maybe in ten years, he’ll even consider one or two _mages_ people....”

She hushed him as the two Templars reached the table where everyone sat.

“Ser Keran,” began the Viscount, “thank you so much for coming today. I understand that you have important evidence to give on this dreadful matter of Grand Cleric Elthina....” He broke off, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Keran gulped. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I heard the accusations against the Grand Cleric, and I remembered... well, I shouldn’t say ‘remembered.’ The day a week or so ago, when Serah Hawke and her people brought the Qunari through town after, I guess, thwarting their attempt on Your Grace’s life... I was the Grand Cleric’s courier that day, but it wasn’t the first time.”

Dumar turned feebly to Caitlyn. “Serah,” he said to her, “if you don’t mind, I am not feeling great right now. You will be stronger and more effective, I’m sure,” he said.

Caitlyn did not doubt that for a second. She only wished she had a larger audience for this... though perhaps it was for the best that no one she sought to cultivate or impress saw the Viscount’s attempt to associate her with him and treat her as one of his functionaries. “Go on,” she said to the young Templar in an encouraging tone. “Elthina had you deliver messages to someone in the Keep before, you mean?”

Keran frowned. “Well—not to ‘someone,’ exactly, though I’m sure that the intended person got them eventually. I was always instructed to drop these notes into a certain vase in the Keep and then leave. It was the same that day.”

Caitlyn cursed inwardly, and she could tell that Anders was disappointed too. She had hoped that Keran would be able to implicate the other conspirator, the other traitor, but it seemed that Elthina had been too clever.

Cullen spoke up. “And why did you do this without ever telling anyone about it?” he said roughly. “Did you not think anything was strange about such instructions?”

Keran looked down at the table, then back up at the Knight-Captain, avoiding the gaze of Meredith Stannard, Caitlyn noted. “Ser, she told me—the Grand Cleric, that is—that if I ever did, she would have me sent to the Templar hospice in Val Royeaux. No Templars ever come out alive. She said it was for the... incident... three years ago with those blood mages and the demon.”

Cullen looked horrified and guilty. Emboldened by the fact that the man who had condemned him seemed to regret that, Keran continued. “I am willing to take the oath on the Chant of Light that no demons bother me in my dreams or otherwise,” he said. “I was never possessed. Just being affected by a demon doesn’t mean that someone has to go to that place.”

Cullen gulped. “I... suppose not.” The guilt and consciousness on his face heightened.

“So, this had been going on for several months,” Keran said, “the notes from the Grand Cleric, the vase in the Keep. That day, the day of the Qunari visit, seemed like any other. Her Grace said nothing about extra urgency, so I didn’t think much of it when I stepped into the pub for a drink and the elf was there. She was pretty and friendly. I had no idea she was a Qunari spy.”

Sebastian finally spoke up. “The spy claimed that she switched the note you carried with a decoy. Did you put the decoy into this vase after you woke up from your drunken sleep?”

Keran glowered back at the prince for the disdain in this question. “No, Your Grace, I did not,” he said defiantly. “The Keep was closed after that, due to the threat. I actually still have the decoy note with me. I brought it today.” He rummaged under his breastplate and withdrew a folded note, which he handed to Caitlyn.

She opened it and spread it on the table. With shaking hands, Viscount Dumar presented the note that Tallis had given them. Everyone at the table peered over to look.

Keran’s note had been written to _attempt_ to ape Elthina’s handwriting, but the result was poor. The letters were forced, too intense and heavy, and shaky in places, obviously the work of someone inexperienced with forgery who was focusing too hard.

“There we have it,” Caitlyn said. “The spy did _try_ to forge a note—the one she gave Ser Keran, not the other one—but she didn’t do a good job of it. The writing is too different for the notes to have been written by the same person, and Keran’s account matches with what Tallis said. The long note is real, and Elthina wrote it. I think,” she said ominously, “that this is ready for trial.”

Sebastian drew back, glowering. “I see this very differently! The fact that one note was definitely forged to look like Elthina’s hand means that the other note remains suspicious! Perhaps this elf, this Tallis, deliberately did a poor job on the note that she gave this young Templar in order to deceive others about her forgery skills.”

Caitlyn gave him a level stare. “Prince Sebastian, why would a Qunari spy care about framing the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall? What would she have against Elthina to do what you’re suggesting?”

“The Qunari benefit if the Chantry is in chaos,” he protested.

“The Chantry will not be ‘in chaos,’” said Caitlyn. “And furthermore, we have to consider the Arishok’s decree as evidence. Why would Tallis concoct some elaborate scheme, which involved confirming an assassination plot by her own people, _and_ which resulted in her being exiled from the Qun she professes? Why would she do that just to take Elthina down? She wouldn’t.”

“I cannot believe this of Elthina. She is a holy woman. What she has been to me....”

“This isn’t about you.”

He sucked in his breath and drew himself up haughtily. “I will not believe this of her. I have known her for years, and she would never plot against the Viscount in order to seize power for herself!”

Anders did not even try to conceal his scoff. This only enraged the prince. He glared at the blond mage and rose from his seat. “I take my leave—and I have made a decision, too. I am going to claim my birthright, the crown of Starkhaven, for the glory of the Chantry and the true teachings of Andraste.” With that, he stormed from the room.

Meredith glowered at Keran and then turned to Cullen. “Escort him back to the Gallows and show him to his quarters, Knight-Captain.” She gave a curt nod to the Viscount, no acknowledgment whatever to Caitlyn or Anders, and rose from her seat as well, followed closely by a conflicted-looking Cullen and a very frightened Keran.

 _He knows he can turn to Ser Thrask,_ Caitlyn thought as the young man was steered away. _At least there is that. He knows he can confide in one person in that place. I hope Meredith doesn’t punish him for telling the truth, but I cannot help everyone._

Dumar’s clothing was soaked with sweat, and he was on the verge of weeping from the evidence that he could not deny. Finally he remembered that others were still there. He turned to the couple. “Thank you so much for presiding, Serah Hawke,” he said to Caitlyn. “This is... difficult... but the facts can’t be denied, and we shall do what we must.”

* * *

Aveline was waiting outside the office for them. “I have had a request from the prisoner Tallis to see you,” she said. “You specifically, Hawke, though obviously, you can let Anders come if you wish.”

Caitlyn scowled. “What does she want to say to me? I have no influence with the Arishok to get her reinstated as Qunari, and I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“I don’t think that’s it. If she just wants to hurl abuse at you, of course you don’t have to listen to that, and I don’t advise it. Let’s just see what she says.”

Tallis was slumped in her cell. She seemed to be brooding. When they reached the cell, she got to her feet and glared at Caitlyn and Anders—though most of her ire was reserved for Caitlyn.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” she said. Her voice still had a petulant streak, but it was much gloomier and bitterer now. “I heard what will apparently become of the priest. Perhaps she deserves her fate, but did I, Hawke?”

“You tried to involve me in espionage and Maker knows what else under false pretense. Probably murder too, by the end, if I’d let you trick me. Serious crimes against someone who will be my host, who used to invite my mother’s family as guests and will also be hosting several of my allies, and for a cause that I do not support. Yes, Tallis, I think you deserve this. At least _you_ will have your life,” she added. “You know what the penalty for high treason is.”

 _“Do_ I have my life?” she said bleakly. “I have been cast out of the Qun. I am nothing now. They have the right to slay me on sight. How many lives are you going to destroy to get what you want, Hawke?”

The dream that she had the night before she went to slay Corypheus returned to her mind. _A heavy diadem, dripping with blood...._

Anders spoke up, shaking that vision from her mind. “Do _not_ speak to _her_ of destroyed lives,” he snarled fiercely. “You do not know what we’ve suffered. You don’t know and you don’t care, so your shaming means nothing.” He took a deep, angry breath, allowing Caitlyn to regain her power of speech.

“I have not destroyed your life or Elthina’s,” she said carefully. _“You_ tried to trick me into your scheme, and _Elthina_ committed treason. Yes, I wanted to replace her with a new Grand Cleric; I admit it. But the plan was to brand her as corrupt and ineffective and shame her into resigning. I didn’t plan on _this—_ but that does not mean that she doesn’t have to answer for what she has done.”

“You converted to the Qun for ‘justice,’ you said the other day,” said Anders. _“This_ is justice.”

“I converted to the Qun because it gave my life meaning,” said Tallis, “and I only ever wanted to make the world a better place... just like you two. I only wanted to help innocent people. Your idea of justice has denied me anything now but the life of a fugitive, if I’m ever allowed out at all.”

Tallis’s manner still irritated Caitlyn, but she realized that the elf meant what she was saying right now. Caitlyn tried to calm her mind before she spoke again. “I know this is going to ring hollow right now,” she said, “but I hope you understand someday. If you’re telling the truth about wanting to save lives, and this is not something your commanding officers cared about, then you put your ideals ahead of what your commander had deemed the best use of resources. You were _already_ Tal-Vashoth in your heart, if this is the case.” She took a breath. “Because the Qun isn’t about ‘helping innocent people.’ It’s about creating a rigid order at any cost to individuals. That is why I am against it, ultimately. There are specific, personal reasons too,” she said, “which I won’t share, but they all amount to that. And the person who wanted to save lives deemed too costly or unimportant to save, who confirmed an assassination plot by her own leader, also puts _people_ ahead of that rigid, cold order.”

She took Anders’ hand, feeling his firm grip immediately, and turned away, leaving Tallis to her thoughts—or her anguish.

* * *

Later that afternoon, while Mal was busy studying age-appropriate magic books, Anders turned to Caitlyn. “I suppose this is as good a time as any. Seeing Cullen Rutherford reminded me of it.”

“Reminded you of what?”

He took a deep breath. “This... is not going to make you happy, Caitlyn. Do you want to hear it right now?”

Suddenly alarmed, she stared at him. “Anders, did something _else_ happen to you in that awful Circle? Did he ever hurt you?”

“No,” Anders assured her. “And I’m not sure if he even had anything to do with... what I’m about to tell you. For that matter, I don’t know exactly how this story ends, or if it has ended. I....” He sighed. “You remember yesterday that your mother mentioned having a cousin who had a mage child.”

Caitlyn’s face fell as she realized where he was going with this. “Oh, no,” she said. “Are you about to tell me that he was in _Ferelden?” He probably didn’t survive the blood mage attack if so,_ she thought with a surge of despair.

Anders looked miserable. “I think he was,” he said in a low voice. “I’m so, so sorry. I just didn’t think, love. I... didn’t put two and two together, because your mother was right; he was at least five years younger than I, and he didn’t study healing, so I didn’t see him that much. And I didn’t think about your mother’s maiden name much, to be honest. After I was taken back, I kept to myself because I was upset and depressed. Well, other than spending time with Karl, I kept to myself. I just didn’t think of him. I’m _so_ sorry....”

She gave him a hug at once. “Anders! This is not your fault! You couldn’t have done anything to get him out....”

He returned the hug. “I know, but I still hate it. His name was Daylen, and when I last saw him, he was still an apprentice. They locked me up in my room for a year after that, and when I got out again, he was... gone. Along with....” He hesitated. “The reason that seeing Cullen brought this to mind is that he, your cousin, had two regular companions, to the best of my knowledge: a human named Jowan and an elf named Neria Surana. And Cullen had, in my opinion, an inappropriate interest in her. Never acted on it, that I know of, but I just think that’s yet another abuse of power, to allow Templars to oversee mages that they....” He broke off angrily.

Caitlyn gave him a wry look. “Did you have an interest in her too?”

He chuckled. “Before I met you... yes. I think every male mage in the Tower did except Karl, and some of the women did too. She gave no man the time of day except her two male friends, though. I hope she and your cousin had something before... the end.”

“What happened to them?” she asked, almost afraid to hear it, but she also knew that she had to know. “You said they were gone when you were let out of confinement.”

His voice suddenly broke. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “What I heard later was that their other friend, Jowan, turned out to be a blood mage, and he used it to escape. I hope they all made it in that same escape, but I don’t know.” He took a shuddering breath. “And Jowan turned up in the Blight, I learned from the Wardens, involved in something pretty bad. So far as I know, he’s still in prison at Redcliffe for it, and the others were not with him.” He gazed sadly at her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to your cousin. I wish I did. And I wish I had more stories about him to share with you, but I just... didn’t really know him.”

She hugged him again, though she shared the sadness. “I don’t blame you for any of this,” she whispered. “As you said, you were several years older, you studied different things, and after you were taken back, of course you weren’t thinking about making friends everywhere. But... whatever became of him, and the girl, I’m glad that you could tell me this much. Before you told me this, I knew nothing.” She suppressed a sob.

He held her, unable to say a word in argument. It was all too true. Finally he said, “I could write to Ferelden, to the new mage Wardens, to see if they know anything. A few of them might be former Circle mages who fought in Denerim and later Joined. It’s not very hopeful, I know, but I won’t get a thing from the Circle itself. Do you want me to try?”

She nodded at once. “Yes. Definitely.”

* * *

_“Run! Faster! After them!”_

Caitlyn and Anders were jerked abruptly out of the Fade by shouts on the street. A crowd of people had gathered outside near the Hawke mansion, it seemed. Her heart began to thump as her brain processed the words. _Someone is running,_ she thought, getting to her feet and scampering toward the window with Anders following close by. _A criminal or a gang, pursued by the Guard?_ She threw back the drapes and gazed down at the street.

Even in the darkness and from the second floor, it was clear that one of the people—the leader—was Aveline. She had her sword drawn, and several guards were darting to and fro nearby, looking very flustered.

“Don’t shoot!” she shouted to one, who had a crossbow. “He is a prince!”

“Oh, Maker bugger Andraste up the—”

Anders’ blasphemous swear was interrupted by Caitlyn’s shriek of laughter. Even in the middle of the unfolding disaster—the nature of which was now unfortunately clear—she could manage a laugh. “You have a dirty mouth!” she exclaimed, pulling on a house dress quickly.

“You knew that,” he said with a grin as he threw his coat on over his night clothes and began to tug his boots on.

As soon as they were garbed in enough clothes to be seen outside the house, they dashed downstairs. Leandra was awake too, as were Mal and Orana, but the matron and maid were not eager to go outside. Mal tried to pull away from his grandmother as his parents threw the door open, but her grip was too firm.

Aveline was furious as she directed her guards, but the look on her face indicated that it was hopeless. “Curse it all!” she exclaimed as Caitlyn and Anders approached.

“Sebastian,” she said blackly. “And I assume that he also had Elthina.”

“I’d like to know how he got her out of her cell!” Aveline exclaimed. “Either he knows how to pick locks, or someone collaborated with him!”

“He might know how to pick locks,” offered Donnic Hendyr, Aveline’s right hand—and, Caitlyn suspected, more than that, but she would not dare bring that up with her. “He lived a wild life for many years.”

“I don’t understand,” Caitlyn said. “How did they escape so fast? Maybe _he_ can run, but Elthina is an older woman....”

“He had a horse! We didn’t stand a chance to pursue them.”

“A horse in Kirkwall?” Caitlyn repeated. “But nobody....”

“He had one! I guess you get exceptions if you’re a prince, even when you haven’t claimed the crown.”

“Which he is on his way to do,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Since there obviously won’t be a trial any time soon”— _if ever,_ she thought dourly—“I might as well tell you. He got angry at the end, after Ser Keran gave his account and essentially proved that the note was _not_ a forgery, and declared that he was going to take the crown of Starkhaven ‘for the glory of the Chantry.’”

“This was in front of Viscount Dumar?” Aveline said, astonished.

“Yes, it was,” Anders confirmed.

“And he didn’t anticipate that... oh, Maker,” she swore as she saw, at last, the belated approach of that very man.

Viscount Dumar was huffing and puffing, garbed only in his nightgown and a pair of fabric slippers, as several guards flanked him for protection. “I heard what happened!” he exclaimed as he caught up with the rest. “I can’t believe it! Sebastian!”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Aveline confirmed. “They escaped on horseback. They’re well outside the city walls by now, I am sure.”

“The chase is hopeless, then?”

Anders hesitated for a moment before venturing a suggestion. “Not necessarily. If there are any other horses in town, I could cast the spell Haste on one. That might allow the horse to catch up and overtake theirs. Do you want to do that, Viscount?”

Caitlyn gave him a look of surprise and admiration; she knew he held the man in utter contempt, but he was still trying to be helpful. And casting Haste on a second horse was an idea that had not occurred to her at all.

Dumar closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. “It’s a smart suggestion, Warden, but... perhaps it’s better this way. She has forfeited her position, but without violence or the ugliness of an execution.”

Caitlyn stepped forward, disgusted. “Your Grace,” she said, practically spitting out the words, “are you meaning to let them go free? For Sebastian to go to Starkhaven to claim a crown, with a traitor in his company—a traitor who undoubtedly knows many state secrets and other information about Kirkwall?”

Dumar gaped at her, speechless for a moment, before responding. “I don’t want to start a war with him! He is going to claim his birthright, so he will have the full force of Starkhaven behind him in any conflict. With the Qunari breathing down our necks, Kirkwall is stretched thin....”

 _If the Circle mages could fight for the city, and the apostates could join without fear, you would have a much more formidable force,_ she thought, but she did not say it. “He does not have those forces at his command yet. He has to reclaim the city first. And Anders’ suggestion would not cause a war if they could be apprehended before they reached Starkhaven in the first place.”

Dumar wavered for a second before shaking his head. “No, Serah Hawke. It is for the best that it happened this way. Let him shelter a silver-haired woman who was a mother to him. She will never be a priest again, after all.”

Caitlyn and Anders shared a look of disgust with Aveline, but there was nothing more they could do.

* * *

The next morning, Petrice had assumed unofficial authority over the Kirkwall Chantry. Elthina had not treated any priest as a regular lieutenant, so there was no one in the Chantry ranks with the existing clout to challenge Petrice’s provisional assumption of power. And after Elthina’s criminal flight the night before—a confirmation of her guilt in everyone’s eyes—no priest wanted to be seen as a loyalist to a traitor.

“I had already written to the Left Hand of the Divine, asking her to advise Justinia to appoint you whenever Elthina left her post,” Caitlyn told her as soon as she was able to talk. “I didn’t anticipate it happening this quickly, of course, so the letter probably has not reached the Grand Cathedral... but it shouldn’t be long now.”

The priest nodded in satisfaction. “There are fast runners on the move today too, of course. This news is quite urgent.” She lowered her voice. “I heard that you were one of the first to learn of the escape, and that the _Viscount”—_ unmitigated contempt filled her voice at the word—“refused your husband’s intelligent idea to catch them before they reached Starkhaven with the use of a spell.”

“He did,” Caitlyn confirmed in a sour tone. “He was afraid of starting a war, so he claimed, but I think he is just too squeamish to exact justice. Some would say it was tenderheartedness, but in his place, it’s squeamishness.”

“Being soft won’t save him,” she said darkly. “The Arishok is still here.”

“I have to ask,” Caitlyn said, changing the subject at once, “have you had a visit from the Knight-Commander?”

Petrice’s lips thinned. “I have. It was perfunctory and cold. She does not approve of or trust me one bit, because of my alliance with you. And I think, too, because she knows I have spoken against how the Qunari treat mages.”

 _Good,_ thought Caitlyn.

“Unfortunately, I do not have the power to dismiss her, and I won’t until the Divine confirms me in the position officially. Even then....” She trailed off.

Caitlyn was instantly on alert. “Even then... what? The Grand Cleric can dismiss the Knight-Commander, I thought.”

“Yes, but the Knight-Commander has the right of appeal to the Templar authorities in Val Royeaux, the Knight-Vigilant and the Knights-Divine, as well as the Lord Seeker. I _will_ move to get rid of her, Hawke, but you should be prepared for her to take that route when I do. It will be up to the Divine to affirm or deny the order in the end.”

 _Great,_ Caitlyn thought unhappily. _Leliana has already told me that Justinia doesn’t want to jump headlong into controversy and wants a drive for change to come from the bottom up that she can then use to justify reform. Now I may end up asking her to overrule the highest-ranking Templars in Thedas. This is looking much more troublesome than I thought._

* * *

_A week later._

The swift messengers to Orlais were not fast enough to outrun the ships to Ferelden, and word came first from the Coastlands. On the very same day, Anders received a response letter from Warden-Commander Cousland about his inquiry into Warden Avernus’s research while Caitlyn had a letter arrive from “Senior Warden-Enchanter and Senior Warden Healer Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire.”

 _“That_ toff became a Grey Warden and a Healer, replacing me?” Anders said indignantly as he opened his letter. “Unbelievable.”

“Not a friend of his, I take it?”

“He was so annoying!” Anders exclaimed. “Pompous know-it-all. And I like comfort as much as the next person, but I think he believed that dirt would consume him. I can’t believe he actually did something like joining the Wardens. The Fereldan Circle must be even more of a nightmare now than it was before.” He opened his letter, which was rather short, and sighed.

“What’s the matter?”

He set it aside. “Avernus _is_ working on Warden infertility—in men only, thus far—because of the King and the stability that an heir will provide, but he hasn’t had a breakthrough yet. Lady Cousland says that she will send me a potion and instructions for making it if he does solve the problem, but he hasn’t done it yet.”

Caitlyn leaned over and hugged him. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “It is important, and we would both be very happy if he can solve the problem, but you were right that night that I was so upset. What we have now is priceless and we must remember that and treasure the family we already have.”

Anders nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He had allowed himself to hope, and now, his hope was at best delayed again. _At least I still have that hope,_ he thought. _Avernus must not think it’s impossible to cure. There is that._

He glanced up at Caitlyn, who was now reading her own letter with a rapidly growing expression of horror and anguish on her face. Tears were forming in her eyes. Without hesitation, he moved to her.

She threw the letter down and flung herself into his embrace, crying openly. Anders wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling a dead weight in his stomach as he picked up the letter to read for himself. She was choking on her sobs; he would not ask her to repeat what horrible news it held.

 

_Serah Hawke,_

_I thank you for reaching out to the mage Wardens of Ferelden for information, and you and Warden Anders have our gratitude for all that you have done in Kirkwall to help mages in that city._

_I am terribly sorry, but I regret to tell you that I have no good news of your cousin and his friend—except, perhaps, that they did not suffer long. That is not my determination to make, though; it is yours and your family’s, and I apologize for my presumption._

_After they were accused of aiding a maleficar in escaping the Circle, your maternal second cousin Daylen Amell and his lady friend Neria Surana were forced to endure the Rite of Tranquility. They were sent to the fourth level of the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold to perform service, and unfortunately this was the floor that was the heart of the demonic evil when the Circle was fallen. I am sure that Warden Anders has told you of this; the Warden-Commander says that he knows of it even though he had escaped before it happened. Your cousin and his friend were among the first mages to be slain by the demons. I swear on my life, Serah Hawke, that they did not live as Tranquil for more than a fortnight._

_I wish I had better news to tell you. I was not extremely close to them, and may not have any more to tell than Warden Anders does, but if you ever wish to know more about your late cousin’s life after he was taken from Kirkwall, you are welcome to write to me to ask._

 

_Regretfully,_

_Warden-Enchanter Finn Aldebrant_

 

Anders felt overwhelmed with sorrow as he held Caitlyn close. She shook in his arms, crying and clutching him desperately, barely able to get a word out. As he held her, though, the sorrow for her began to transmute into a blinding rage. _Is there any mage whose loved ones haven’t been touched by this evil?_ he thought. _They do it, they destroy us, as if we are nothing—because to them, we are nothing._

At last she lifted her head up to meet his gaze with her own. Although her eyes were still bloodshot and watery, that same rage gleamed from them as well. “He was _family,”_ she said in a low, dark, angry voice. “He was family—and I’ll claim his friend as family too. And I never even got to _know_ him. None of us did. He was taken from us and _destroyed,_ the fact that he ever lived at all almost obliterated, his surviving relatives not even notified of what happened to him! Even for a vagrant, they try to find surviving family rather than letting him rot in the street when he dies! But not mages! They don’t see us as people, Anders!”

“No, they don’t.”

She took a deep breath. “I will tell Mother that he died. She doesn’t need to know any more than that. But....” Her voice wobbled again, and she gazed at him with a renewed burst of tears. “I’m so sorry—that night, the night that Karl... died... and the way I acted to you—”

“Caitlyn, love, you’ve apologized for that. More than once. I forgave you long ago.” He pulled her close, stroking her hair, trying to offer her what comfort he could.

She closed her eyes, feeling that she did not deserve his touches despite his words. “I understand now, on a personal level, just _how_ horrible I was. And he was close to you. I never knew Cousin Daylen or his girl, but I still feel so much sorrow just because of who he was, who they were—would have been to us, had they lived.” She took a shuddery breath. “Sorrow and _anger.”_

“Anger is good,” he said. “In this case, anger is good. It is righteous and _just.”_

“Yes,” she said, her voice firming up again. “It is. They will not have suffered and died in vain, any of them. I swear it.” She breathed heavily, staring ahead, as the tears finally dried. “They will _all_ have justice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen fans: I’m sorry. But this _is_ 9:34, and the Circle memory narrative was Anders’ take on him, specifically this AU Anders who wanted out of the Fereldan Circle so desperately at the exact time that Cullen began to serve there. However, this is not a Cullen-bashing story. He’s not a super important character in this fic, but he’ll have a character arc that is similar to his canonical one, with differences in circumstance and timing.
> 
> Speaking of things that have differences in circumstances and timing in the AU, I have not forgotten about the quest “Dissent” (rapist Templars). It’ll just happen later and in a different way. There have been some provocations in this AU that didn’t happen in canon, and as a result, a certain major event will happen earlier here by a number of months, and then different circumstances cause the comeuppance of Alrik and pals to be postponed relative to its canon timeline and to occur in a different way. But it’s going to occur.


	8. The Innocent Can Never Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the wait for this chapter. I found it hard to focus while waiting for _Game of Thrones_. :) It’s probably no surprise that I’m into that, given this antiheroine Hawke, the narrative about power for a good end versus conscience pangs for the means used, and the political scheming. (And, yes, the “elevating the High Sparrow for political advantage” plot is an influence—but don’t take that as a spoiler or a hint for _anything_ about the future events of this story. I’m doing my own thing, which will become apparent after I am past the (semi-)canon events. And if there is a female Westerosi that I think Caitlyn is like, it’s Daenerys, not Cersei. In the good and the bad ways.)
> 
> Another thing, I’m not going to try to include canon dialogue anymore except in instances where I really liked it (or really disliked it and want to use that to make a character look bad, lol). I am not replaying the game as I write, so it’s a bit of a pain to dig up random canon dialogue for its own sake and breaks the flow of writing for me. We are almost past the events that are only mildly canon-divergent, anyway.
> 
> The next chapter should _not_ take this long to be posted, I promise.
> 
> Song is “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day.

“The false shepherdess, who would feed this city to the wolves, has fled in disgrace, but those whose plot she was aiding still remain! Is it justice for a traitor to escape without consequence and the enemy to sit not merely _at_ our doorstep, but _inside our house?_ I ask you, people of Kirkwall: _Is it?”_

Caitlyn held her head high, trying not to think too hard about the fury of the armed crowd that she was passing by, their weapons held upward, their faces distorted in rage. _And she has nothing to fear now,_ Caitlyn thought. _I thought she wasn’t inhibited by fear of Elthina before, but she is truly unchained now._

“How long are we to wait for our so-called leadership to act? Do our leaders truly think we can have peace with those who are commanded to conquer and ravage, to destroy all that is, in their tongue, _‘bas’?_ Perhaps the plan is for the son of a _certain_ leader to convert to the Qun so that he can forge peace?” Petrice mocked to the furious crowd, reveling in her own sarcasm.

In spite of everything, Caitlyn was mildly amused by that. She wished she weren’t. In her suspicion, Viscount Dumar either did not accept the reality that his son _was_ close to converting, or he did not understand the gravity of such a decision by the son of the ruling Viscount. _It wouldn’t be like an adolescent boy going through a wild period,_ she thought. _Many children do that. It can still be harmful, but it’s not unusual. Converting to the Qun while the Arishok sits in Kirkwall in implicit challenge to the Viscount, though? That’s different._ She gazed back at the crowd. _I just wish she were saying that in a measured way rather than just using it to rile people up. I may benefit from this, but only in that the common people will support a new leader too. If I become Viscountess, it will be because the gentry and nobility have supported me to replace Dumar, not because Petrice enraged Lowtown._

Caitlyn hurried away, not wanting to hear more.

* * *

Anders was waiting for her at home with a letter from Orlais, at last. To Caitlyn’s surprise, it was from Leliana—but the former bard had made sure to address it to her and to Anders, clearly wanting to avoid any act that might create undue friction between the couple. Anders was smiling mildly as he passed it to her, having already read it for himself.

 

_Caitlyn and Warden Anders,_

_I have heard of the shocking events in Kirkwall and have advised Divine Justinia in accordance with your recommendations. I do not know this priest, and all that I can uncover of her in Val Royeaux is the fall of her noble family due to losing the Game, but I trust your judgment and do not wish to interfere with your existing plans, alliances, or your admirable goals without due cause._

_Divine Justinia and I pray for the safety of Kirkwall until the Arishok takes his force and departs for his homeland—and, for my part, I pray for your success afterward. Maker watch over you all._

_Sister Nightingale_

 

She set down the letter and looked up at Anders. “That was brief and to the point.” _She trusts my judgment,_ Caitlyn thought, suddenly feeling a pang for that particular turn of phrasing after what she had just witnessed in Lowtown.

Anders nodded, not noticing her discomfiture. “What do you make of that assertion that ‘for _her_ part’ she’ll pray for our success—but not for Justinia’s part?”

“I think she just respects Justinia greatly and doesn’t want to speak for her in something that she hasn’t explicitly discussed with her. Yet,” she added. “She trusts my judgment”— _perhaps more than she ought—_ “and I trust her. She’s on our side, Anders, and her experience as a bard makes me trust her assessment of her associates, like Justinia. She’s optimistic and idealistic, but not naïve and foolish.” Caitlyn gave him a grin. “And don’t you trust Elissa Cousland’s judgment too?”

He considered that, finally nodding. “Yes. That’s all true. I just worry a lot.” He sighed heavily, folding his hands in his lap. “It’s still difficult for me to fully trust people in the Chantry or Templars. Especially Templars. Even knowing Ser Thrask... and Varnell,” he added grudgingly, as he rather disliked the latter.

She got up and sat beside him, giving him a brief hug and leaning against his side. He draped his arm over her, pulling her close in a loose, comfortable embrace. “You experienced things that I never did,” Caitlyn said to him. “I lost _you_ to the Circles, but I didn’t ever lose my entire family. I’ve never even set foot in one myself. I didn’t have my youth taken from me. I always saw the seasons change, year after year. And....” She sighed. “I mourn the cousin I never knew, and I mourn your friend for you, but that’s just it; no one I personally knew was made Tranquil. I understand why you feel this way.”

He took a shaky breath. “I am trying to see people as people, to look past this instinctive distrust. Isn’t that what I want others to do for mages like our family? I should follow my own rule. I’m trying, love. But... even so... I’m glad that you have taken the lead. Some of the things you’ve set in motion, I couldn’t have been able to make myself do. And they needed to be done.”

Caitlyn was moved by his words of confidence in her. Her anxiety decreased as she considered them. As she had often told herself, what other choice had she had? Elthina had had to go, and her betrayal was only further proof. Petrice would surely temper her rhetoric once the Qunari, whom she genuinely detested, were sent back home, and she had the official imprimatur and dignity of the Grand Cleric’s seat, rather than being just a temporary “acting head priest” who could command only those her voice reached on its own. The aggressive rhetoric made Caitlyn nervous now, since the Arishok and his soldiers did still sit in the docks district, but it would pass, and then Ser Marlein and the others would call their moot to force Dumar to step down and choose a new leader. It would all work out, of that Caitlyn was certain at this moment.

They leaned into each other gently, gazing ahead, until Mal entered the room with an expectant smile and a request for magic lessons. It was the perfect coda to the couple’s moment of contemplation for the future they wanted to build, and they eagerly got to their feet with smiles on their faces.

* * *

The next morning, Caitlyn received a summons to the Viscount’s Keep—or, rather, it was worded as a request for counsel, but one did not refuse such a “request,” even when the Viscount issuing it was weak and foolish. _I, after all, cannot escape to another Marcher city to claim a crown for myself,_ she thought cynically as she prepared herself for the visit. _I can’t rebel... yet._ She reflected in amusement that the crown she was after was on the head of the man who wanted to talk to her.

Dumar was a curious mix of agitation and sadness. He bade her sit down in his Little Audience Chamber. To her surprise, no one else was present.

“Your Grace,” she protested, “I am not entirely comfortable with this situation.” It wasn’t that she feared this man physically—far from it—but this could look bad for her on two fronts if word of it got out. There were people in Kirkwall who still made false insinuations about Mal’s parentage and Caitlyn’s own conduct, and there were also Hightown allies, disgusted with Dumar, whom she wanted to keep cultivated, and they might look askance at her allowing herself to become Dumar’s advisor.

He gazed down at his lap unhappily. “I won’t keep you long, then. I just... hoped I might ask your advice on some points.”

“I will do what I can to help Your Grace,” she said curtly.

He unfolded a scroll that he had clearly just received before he sent for her. “You will hear of this soon enough, no doubt. This is the decree of the Divine in Val Royeaux, stripping Elthina of all her honors and titles as a priest of the Chantry, and appointing this Mother Petrice in her stead.”

_Well, that’s no surprise to me,_ Caitlyn thought. She managed a nod of acknowledgment for him. “She has made a leader of herself lately, and Divine Justinia must understand the mood of the city is for a priest who... is very much the opposite of one who conspired to allow a Qunari assassination plot.”

“I’m sure so,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. He shook faintly. “It’s still hard for me to believe sometimes... how to square that away with what Saemus says of them... the boy is of the mind that it’s just another way of life and we can exist side by side....”

Caitlyn considered her words carefully. “Viscount Dumar, better scholars of the Qun than I am have said otherwise. You might ask your son if he realizes that he would have to give up his life and family—he would not be able to have a father, and he would not even be able to keep his own  _name—_ if he joined.”

“That’s what the priest... our new Grand Cleric, I suppose... has said at her... events... or so I am told by the guards who observed discreetly—”

_So Aveline did station guards to keep an eye on the rallies,_ Caitlyn thought.  _But she did it without their being noticed. Good idea._

“—but I always hoped, I guess, that she was exaggerating for effect.”

“She is... a very dramatic speaker... but every claim that she has made about life under the Qun is accurate.” Caitlyn leaned forward. “Did you want advice from me about how to work with her, Your Grace?”

Dumar sighed. “Not precisely. I mean to keep more to my sphere and let her keep to hers. I was too close to Elthina, that I realize. I told her things that I should not have about my family, and I do fear that....” He trailed off.

“That what, Viscount?”

He picked up again unhappily. “I have also received word from Starkhaven. Prince Sebastian has arrived there and has been accepted as the last heir of the Vael family.”

_That is entirely your fault for allowing him to leave Kirkwall,_ she thought.

“He has informed all the Marcher lords—and the monarchs of the big countries, I suppose, too—of his accession, rather arrogantly if I may say so, and has declared that he has entered into an alliance with the Grand Cleric of Tantervale ‘for the glory of Our Lady Andraste.’”

Caitlyn looked up sharply, very alarmed at this news. Kirkwall was a troubled city with a vocal regressive element among Meredith’s supporters, but there was also a reform-minded population, and Kirkwall did  _have_ a secular government, however weak its current head of state was. The law protected those who were not Andrastian along with the Chantry faithful. Tantervale was ruled all but openly by the Chantry, and the most reactionary sector of it, at that. Chantry rules  _were_ law, with violations punished criminally. That Sebastian was aligning openly with this, and that the Grand Cleric of Tantervale had backed him, presumably  _knowing_ that he was harboring a fugitive traitor, meant nothing good for unity in the Chantry.  _Divine Justinia will not like this news,_ Caitlyn thought in concern.  _ This could spark a second schism if something isn’t done to stop it.  _ _And on the purely worldly side, an alliance between two warm northern Marcher states, along the Minanter River, with the advantages to trade, farming, and defense that the river provides.... This is bad._

“Serah Hawke, I think this disturbs you even more than it did me!”

Caitlyn raised her gaze to his. “I cannot answer as to that,” she said at last, “but it does indeed trouble me a  _lot_ that another Grand Cleric has allied with the prince who is sheltering Elthina, and the geographical location of the two cities is... very advantageous to their alliance and their own stability.”

Dumar closed his eyes. “It is troubling,” he admitted. “Do you think I should make an offer of truce to Prince Sebastian?”

She stared at him in amazement. “Absolutely not... Your Grace,” she added. “Whatever Elthina may be to him personally, his actions are an insult to you and to Kirkwall. This was not a matter of a tyrant wanting to execute a troublemaker for a personal slight. This was proven treason.”

“I truly dreaded the thought of hanging a gray-haired priest, Serah Hawke,” he pleaded. “You are... very focused on justice....”

_You don’t even know the half of what “justice” means in my household,_ she thought with a touch of dark humor.

“...but I just hated the thought of it in this case. It would have been so very ugly, serah, and I was glad that night that I didn’t have to do it. If he had _gone_ to Tantervale with her, to serve as a brother there and for her to claim sanctuary in the Tantervale cathedral, as she would be permitted as a layperson now... that would have been different.”

“But that is not what he did,” Caitlyn pressed, seeing no use in arguing the point about punishing certain crimes whoever had committed them. “Instead he took a crown and made an alliance that introduces a veiled challenge to Divine Justinia, let alone yourself! You do not owe him anything; he owes you restitution. Frankly, due to the nature of Elthina’s crime, he owes you the unconditional support of Starkhaven’s soldiers if the Qunari try anything else.”

Dumar shook his head in futility. “He’ll never do that!”

“Perhaps not,” she admitted, “but you should still request it, if you want to communicate with him. You should certainly not offer anything to _him.”_

Dumar sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I will think on it more before sending my response to his announcement. You have my leave to return to your family, Serah Hawke.”

* * *

No one in the Hawke family had been much of a regular Chantry-goer. They had enjoyed the music, and the Hawke parents had taught their children the Chant of Light and the history of Andraste’s rebellion and betrayal. But the Revered Mother of Lothering had been the type of priest who had a gentle voice, sweet demeanor, and a deep streak of cruelty and meanness. During the Blight, just before the town fell, she had set up a prisoner in a cage to be publicly humiliated and then left for the darkspawn, rather than being made to serve the army or even given a clean death. She had directed a priest to harass Lothering citizens in the village square for selling goods to refugees at a profit, while extorting coin from travelers herself that surely would not go to the Chantry, since the Chantry was about to be destroyed. Caitlyn’s resistance to visiting the Lothering Chantry to have Mal named and registered had been resentment of the Chantry over Anders’ capture, but it had also been dislike of this woman even though she’d had nothing to do with that. On reflection, Caitlyn supposed that it wasn’t much wonder that she had been able to work with Petrice. After the initial act of deceit in 9:31, she had never pretended to be gentle and sweet-natured to Caitlyn or to anyone else; she had presented herself exactly as she was without softening the edges, and Caitlyn respected that even when she wanted to incinerate her or feared that Petrice’s actions would do more harm than good. Caitlyn was like that herself, after all.

Nevertheless, going to the Chantry to listen to the Chant or sermons was not a habit they had formed in the Lothering days, due to these factors and need to keep the mages of the family hidden. However, this would be Petrice’s inaugural sermon as Grand Cleric, and Caitlyn knew that staying home for it would be a slight that the priest likely would consider unforgivable. It was not her choice for how to spend a morning, but it was not something she could skip. _Anders_ could skip it, and he was going to. Someone was always ill, after all. Mal was going to stay with him. But Caitlyn and Leandra were going.

_Besides,_ she thought as she pulled on a nice gown,  _it’s an opportunity to see what the major players are doing—or infer things about their absences._

The first thing she noticed as she entered the city Chantry, which was unusually full this morning, was that Meredith Stannard was not there. This actually surprised her; she had taken Meredith to be capable of feigning loyalty and duty to others in order to ingratiate herself with them. She had pulled that trick with Viscount Dumar, and possibly Elthina—though Cait was not certain exactly who had been the dominant force in that relationship. But Meredith had no qualms about issuing a rather public insult to  _this_ priest, which, Caitlyn realized, meant that she was positioning herself as a foe immediately.  _Could she be aligned with Sebastian, Elthina, and Tantervale already?_ she wondered. It seemed possible. She certainly would admire the theocracy of Tantervale.

Viscount Dumar  _was_ there—though Saemus was not. Caitlyn forbore from rolling her eyes about that. The de Launcets and her other Hightown associates had formed a knot in the left side of the sanctuary, and Caitlyn and her mother joined them there as the priest began to welcome everyone and speak.

After the expected formalities of acknowledging her new position and “hoping to bring Kirkwall together,” Petrice wasted no time.

“The day may come when we, like the faithful of the earliest years after the Prophet’s death, like those who suffered the trials of the Exalted Marches, have to take up arms to defend our faith—our city—and our way of life,” she intoned, her voice carrying. “The Maker has called us to guard and watch, to be vigilant and prepared. As the betrayal of Our Lady shows, and recent events in this very city have again illustrated, treason can lurk anywhere because greed and a lust for unearned power can lurk anywhere. The Maker turned his gaze from us because of what mankind did to Andraste. Do any of you think that the independence of Kirkwall will endure if we fail to secure and defend ourselves? To our north are those who would happily annex and capture our city, and would say they had just cause if we allowed it to fall to the Qun.”

_She knows,_ Caitlyn thought as a chill went down her spine.  _She knows about Starkhaven and Tantervale, and that is what she is alluding to. Some type of conflict—I hope not armed—may be inevitable, but she welcomes it._

“The Maker forgives those who seek forgiveness, it is true... but we must not forget that He is just, and the just punishment for sloth is to become incapacitated, a ward of another, who will forcibly do what the slothful will not do for himself.” She paused. “Be vigilant. Be watchful. Be prepared. This is itself a defense of your city, your faith, and your Maker—and you may be called upon to do more.”

* * *

Within a day of the sermon, residents of Kirkwall had taken her words to heart. It was impossible now to pass through the docks district near the Qunari compound without encountering armed vigilantes who styled themselves “the First Watchmen.” She and Anders were in Lowtown trying to make a formal alliance with a woman named Selby, a strong mage sympathizer and rather well-to-do, who used her wealth to help Circle escapees and hunted apostates get out of Kirkwall, when they encountered the Watchmen.

“If the oxmen come out to attack at last,” explained a burly woman warrior bearing a sword and shield, “we’ll be the first line of defense against them. _We’ll_ be the ones they’ll have to cut through if they try to sack the city! And we mean to prevent it, on Andraste’s blood,” she vowed. “Or diminish their numbers as much as we can if we fall.”

Caitlyn was not sure what to think, or more importantly, to say. On the whole, she didn’t think it was a bad idea for people to be keeping watch on the Qunari compound, for the exact reasons that the woman had detailed. Viscount Dumar should have had agents spying on them ever since they arrived, and he should have authorized Aveline to station guards near the compound so that they would at least realize they would not have a free path if the Arishok ever declared that the Qun demanded the seizure of Kirkwall. But these were not the city guards; they were independent vigilantes, most likely the most devoted of Petrice’s following. They might not exercise the professionalism of guards, and their presence might _incite_ the Arishok.

“I thank you for your service to the city,” she said at last to the woman, who seemed to be the First Watchmen’s leader. “Are you trained in combat, then? As much as we all want to help, it’s important that those who take up weapons know how to use them.”

The woman nodded. “We’ve all seen ‘combat’ of some sort. A few from your homeland, Serah Hawke, who fought at that old Fereldan fortress in the south... a good assortment of mercenaries, former Coterie muscle, all kinds. All of us have our own weapons and we know what we’re doing, I assure you.”

Her voice was so dark and bloodthirsty that these words utterly failed to reassure. Anders looked uneasily to one side. “That’s good to know,” Caitlyn finally said. “Just... don’t let anyone _provoke_ them. We don’t want to be the villains, and there is still hope that the Qunari will go home on their own.”

She scoffed. “That hope is dwindling by the day, serah. But I hear you about not being the villains. And we’re not. We let people come and go. We’re just _watching_ in case there’s ever worse than that.”

When they found Mistress Selby, they learned that she was worried that any Circle reforms the new Grand Cleric—and, she heavily hinted, new political leadership—implemented would require a compromise with Meredith to authorize even stronger crackdowns on her mage-sympathetic network. Caitlyn wondered if her ambition was only a secret to Viscount Dumar himself at this point. After she and Anders reassured Mistress Selby that they had no intention of giving Meredith  _anything_ she might demand, thereby gaining a pledge from the mage sympathizer for her support, Anders and Caitlyn headed home at last.

His face was troubled, she noticed. He would want to talk once he had checked on the clinic and they had spent family time with Mal, who greeted them with a mouthful of his grandmother’s cookies and two more in hand. Neither Caitlyn nor Anders wanted to scold him, especially since those cookies smelled delicious and were still warm....

* * *

“I’m concerned,” Anders confessed later that night after they had settled down to sit side-by-side on the bed. “I know I’ve said that several times since you began to plan all of this, but what we saw today at the docks truly bothers me. The First Watchmen,” he clarified.

She gazed ahead. “You could probably tell that it bothered me too.”

“I could.”

“There is nothing I can do about them, though. I would antagonize a lot of people at this point if I tried to turn them off, and why would they obey me? I have no right to command them to leave that area.”

“Yet,” he said with a wry smirk.

“Yet,” she agreed. The smile on her face that had formed faded at once. “And besides, they _are_ serving a function that the Viscount did not want to order done himself. It would be better if Aveline’s guards did the work... and I don’t _know_ that he has thought of having a watch on the Qunari compound, but it really would not surprise me if he has and just hasn’t done it because he is afraid of the Arishok. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea for people to keep watch. If... Maker forbid... they do attack, at least they would have to fight immediately.”

Anders sighed. “I know. I was torn about it too. But I’m getting concerned about the entire situation. Petrice... she’s powerful. Her voice is powerful, and she _has_ power now, of course. She does, and you don’t—yet. That worries me, that imbalance. And besides that general unease, there are two specific possible outcomes that keep me awake, so to speak.”

“One of them, I assume, is that her rhetoric finally provokes the Arishok.”

He grimaced. “Honestly, Cait... I hate to say this, to even _think_ it, but... I fear that it’s inevitable that he’s going to attack. He hasn’t obtained whatever it is that he wants. I’m almost equally worried about what may come after.”

“Maker!” she exclaimed. “What could be as bad as the city being sacked?”

“If Meredith says that you and Petrice provoked the attack and are to blame for it, and Dumar agrees with her,” he said darkly. “And the two of you are popular favorites _now,_ but people’s minds might turn quickly after an attack.”

Caitlyn stared at him in horror. That had not occurred to her.

“The other possibility is if the Arishok is more patient than I fear, and the stalemate continues, with no ‘moot’ or whatever they call it to replace Dumar. Petrice might decide to make peace with Meredith if she thinks you aren’t going to take the high seat after all.”

Caitlyn blew out her breath through her teeth, her fear suddenly transformed to frustration. “Anders,” she said as patiently as she could manage, _“Meredith_ is the one who has been hostile. She didn’t even go to Petrice’s inaugural sermon as the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. Whatever Petrice is, she is _not_ one to waste energy and capital courting inveterate enemies.”

He gave her a piercing look. “You keep trying to assure me that you don’t really trust her. ‘Whatever she is,’ ‘what choice did I have,’ and so on. And three years ago, you didn’t trust her. But I think you do now.”

She threw back the covers hotly and glared at him. “Then you don’t know the conflict I’ve had in my own mind about her rhetoric, her rallies, her Game-playing approach to power.”

He backed down, but only somewhat. “All right. I believe you. But I also think you trust her, despite this inner conflict. You don’t just see her as an ally of convenience anymore; I think you kind of like her now, even if you don’t like everything she does.”

She stared back stonily at him. Her mind whispered that he was right, even though she did not want to admit it—to him or to herself.

He sighed again. “Caitlyn—there is a potential Chantry fracture, a second schism, brewing.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.”

“And she is too. I would stake my life on it.”

“And you think she would offer an olive branch to Meredith because of this? Meredith and her allies are the _cause_ of it. The smart thing to do would be to align strongly with Divine Justinia instead.”

Anders gazed at her with a pleading look. “She warned you that Meredith would appeal her own dismissal to the Knight-Vigilant and Lord Seeker. Divine Justinia isn’t the only power in the Chantry. Cait... I admire you so much. I mean that,” he said, and his eyes and voice bled sincerity. “You formed a plan and it really might be coming to fruition. I said it the other day and I meant it: I couldn’t have done this. I admire you more than I can even say.”

She knew that he was going to follow this up with a “but,” but she still was moved almost to tears as she shared a quick but tight hug with him.

“But I know you, and I am pretty sure that you admire something in that priest too. You _do_ see her dark side—I don’t mean _at all_ that you’re blind to that—but after your initial distrustful resignation to working with her because she seemed the only option, I think you’ve come to see something in her that you admire.”

Caitlyn realized that she had experienced that exact thought lately, and she could not deny it now. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted in a low voice.

“And... in a way, I guess that’s good... if she reciprocates.” The admission seemed hard for him to make, but this was a night for tough admissions, and Caitlyn was glad that they could both do it with each other. “It makes the alliance stronger,” he continued. “But Caitlyn, love... please, please don’t forget that her reasons for wanting power are not your reasons. She’ll work with us on the Circles and mage rights if you achieve _your_ ambition, but that is not the reason she wanted to become Grand Cleric.”

She leaned against his shoulder, caressing his chest for comfort—and because it felt like a lifeline. Staring ahead, away from his body, she nodded. “I know.” Her fingers ran over his pectoral muscles, reveling in his physical presence and the inexhaustible font of support that he was for her. She was much happier and more balanced since he had reentered her life three years ago, and she knew it was the same for him. Her gestures brought him to suck in his breath and wrap his left arm tightly around her, pulling her very close. “I won’t forget. And you’re right—you didn’t say it explicitly, but you are right that I need to make my play very soon. I will talk to my allies to schedule the moot.”

* * *

She meant to do that the very next day, but a great many things occurred that day.

It began relatively innocuously, a pleasant sunrise and a nice breakfast for the family. Mal actually expressed a desire to stay at home today rather than going to the clinic, because he wanted to practice casting snow and ice again. Caitlyn could not much blame him; it was the middle of summer and there was only so much that even mages could do to cool a house—and Kirkwall was hotter than southern Ferelden. As Anders headed off, a mild smile on his face for the fact that his son was interested in several kinds of magic, Caitlyn got ready for the practice session with Mal in the well-warded basement.

She only got to spend half an hour working with him before the first sign that things were about to start happening. Isabela eased into the basement uneasily, her face betraying something that Caitlyn had almost never seen in the pirate: shame.

She bade Mal keep practicing as she stepped away to talk quietly with her friend, keeping watch on him out of the corner of one eye.

“I... need to tell you,” Isabela muttered, gazing down at the stone floor. “It’s about my encounters with the Qunari.”

A sharp chill shot down Caitlyn’s spine. “Is this what you were going to say the day that Meredith came to the house when I was out?”

“Yes. I really did mean to tell you, I swear. I was just about to.”

Caitlyn sighed heavily. _This has reached a critical point, then, since she is telling me of her own accord. Something big is about to happen._

“They were pursuing me because I had... acquired... a very important cultural relic of theirs.”

Caitlyn drew in her breath, suddenly remembering the frank discussion she had had with all of her friends. “Isabela,” she said, “please tell me it’s not the book that Fenris mentioned that night... the Tome of Koslun....”

Isabela grimaced. “The Tevinters offered a price big enough that I wouldn’t just get a new ship, I’d get a whole fleet.”

“Oh, Maker,” Caitlyn cursed. She sighed, forcing herself to keep her temper. _This happened three years ago,_ she thought with a sudden surge of betrayal. _She has known all along why the Qunari weren’t leaving, but her own greed kept her from telling me, her supposed friend, even as I aligned openly and publicly with the most anti-Qunari priest in the city, saw the former Grand Cleric credibly accused of treason involving the Qunari, and became a public figure myself in support of getting them to go back home! I did all this, and she knew for three years why they weren’t leaving!_

“You’re angry,” Isabela said quietly.

Caitlyn sucked her breath between clenched teeth and exhaled sharply. “Yes,” she acknowledged. “That you’ve known about this for three years and never told me, even as I got more and more involved in Kirkwall.... Why are you telling me _now?_ What changed?”

“I lost the relic. I haven’t _had_ it in my actual possession. I was trying to protect you and your family.”

“Protect me?” she burst out. She glanced at Mal, who had stopped his magic and was observing the conversation intently. “Keeping secrets from me doesn’t protect me! It doesn’t protect _him”—_ she gestured hotly at her son—“or any of the rest of this family! Isabela, I know you realize that it isn’t _protection_ to avoid facing problems! You helped _save_ my mother that one night!”

“Until this year, you weren’t _that_ involved in this. It _did_ seem like I was protecting you by not telling you. What could you have done? I didn’t have it anyway.”

“We would have helped you to track it down!” Caitlyn exploded. She sighed, running her hands through her red hair. “All right. You said you lost it. I presume you have it now?”

“I, uh... actually don’t. But I know who does,” she said at once, seeing that her friend was about to explode in temper again.

Caitlyn counted to five mentally before speaking again. Her voice was much calmer, at least. “Go and find it,” she finally said. “Bring it to me. I will take it to the bloody Arishok myself. No, Isabela, you’re _not_ selling it to Tevinter,” she said at once when Isabela looked unhappy at being denied the prospect of immense coin. She glanced briefly at Mal and lowered her voice even more so that he wouldn’t hear what she said. “As a private citizen, I wouldn’t give a tinker’s damn if Tevinter used the Tome to beat the Qunari. I’d be fine with that outcome and I’m absolutely certain that Anders would be even happier. But I am not intending to be a private citizen for much longer, and I cannot pursue the high seat of Kirkwall after aiding and abetting foreign espionage myself while someone else sits in the Kirkwall prison for that same crime. I do have _some_ limits, and I _try_ not be a hypocrite.”

Isabela scowled, but fortunately not for long. Caitlyn would not have been able to tolerate looking at her if she did, and she seemed to realize that this long-standing betrayal of a friend merited atonement. After another minute, she nodded and left quickly.

Mal gazed at his mother with wide eyes once they were alone in the basement again. “Mother?” he said. “What’s about to happen?”

She went over to him and pulled him close into a loose hug. Her eyes closed of their own accord as she tried to block out the whirlwind that she knew was coming. _If only it could just be our family, my dear sweet boy,_ she thought. _None of this, just us, your father, your grandparents—both of them, and Maker, Anders’ mother too—and your uncle and aunt, your poor cousin, all of us just living a quiet life.... If we just could have lived in peace, free of fear... but we couldn’t have. And if I win, we never will, though the fears we face will be different. I’m so, so sorry... but it is necessary._

“Mal,” she said, “I think things are about to change for us again.” She took a deep breath. He was six and a half years old; that was old enough to comprehend this. “I am going to try to become the leader of Kirkwall, so that I can change things and we never have to fear being separated as a family.”

He smiled. “But that’s good, isn’t it?”

“That is. But... before it happens, the city might become unsafe.” _More than it already is._ “You need to do exactly as your father and I tell you. It’s extremely important.” Already she started giving thought to how to protect him if—Maker forbid—the Arishok was dissatisfied even when the Tome of Koslun was presented to him. When she had spoken to him one time, he had suggested that it was a dishonor for someone not of the Qun to touch it. _I need a heavy guard to enter their compound,_ she thought. _I... will have to bring in the First Watchmen, I guess. And Mal...._ “Your father may want to stay here with you. But whether he does or not, I am going to leave you with Baldwin. He can protect you about as well as we can!”

* * *

It seemed later to Caitlyn as though a dam had burst that day. She had meant to go to the clinic to talk to Anders, to catch him up on everything that was happening, when her own mother interrupted them in the basement with another shocking piece of news.

“Viscount Dumar needs to see you quickly!” she exclaimed. “His son has joined the Qunari, as a convert, and has taken up residence in their compound! He apparently swore it was because of the new Grand Cleric and the vigilantes outside the compound.”

Caitlyn actually sagged against the stone wall, her head suddenly swimming from being overcome. “And what does he think _I_ can do about that?” she finally managed to say. “The Arishok cannot possibly respect or trust _me,_ and even if he did, I rather doubt they cast out willing converts at anyone’s behest!”

“The messenger didn’t say,” Leandra said, her voice shaky. “He might just want to commiserate....”

Caitlyn’s temper, already on hair trigger by the sting of three years of lies from Isabela, flared yet again. “Commiserate?” she barked. “Is that actually what the messenger suggested?”

“He said that the Viscount requested ‘counsel and solace’ and sought it from you since Elthina is... not here. That is what I took it to mean.”

She finally snapped. A surge of magic exploded from her, a flame forming in her hand almost involuntarily. In a sudden physical movement, she hurled the resulting fireball at the bare, warded stone wall, where it dissipated. Caitlyn took a breath, feeling satisfaction—rather like a non-mage would feel about throwing or punching some object in a fury. She turned to her mother, disgust for the Viscount oozing from her words. “It is entirely his own fault that this has happened,” she said. “And I have bigger problems right at the moment than a pathetic man who wants someone to talk to him to make him feel better! He shouldn’t feel better about this! He should abdicate, _now!_ If I do have to talk to him, that’s what I’m going to tell him!”

Leandra whimpered. “Caitlyn, _please....”_

“Mother, you need to stay inside,” she said crisply, changing the subject, though only slightly, she feared. Mentally she was already preparing for some type of conflict today. Kirkwall had become a flask of explosive— _or a gaatlok keg,_ she thought with dark humor. “Unless it becomes unsafe in the house, and then, you need to take Mal and Orana—and the pets—and evacuate through Darktown. There are tunnels that people use for smuggling in and out of town.”

“Caitlyn! Whatever do you mean....”

“I mean that I have a bad feeling,” she said darkly. “I just learned why the Qunari haven’t left—that’s why Isabela was here, to confess to me that she’s known all along, and hasn’t told me for _three years,_ but that she thinks she might be able to get the thing they’re waiting here for. But I am not entirely convinced that they will leave even if that works out. And now, this news about Saemus Dumar.... You just need to stay inside.”

Reluctantly, but frightened by the grimness of her daughter’s words, Leandra nodded in assent.

* * *

At last she was able to tell Anders everything. He was having a slow day in the clinic— _thank the Maker for that, at least,_ she thought—and did not hesitate to close it down in order to return to the house to protect the others.

“I understand that it’s your nature to want to lead, and to protect people,” he said to her, holding her tightly, “but for the Maker’s sake, be careful and don’t take any risks that you don’t have to.” He glowered darkly. “I personally think it would be _justice_ for Isabela to have to hand the Tome over to the Arishok herself, even if she is trembling as she does it.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said. “I don’t want to alienate her forever....”

“She lied to us for three years, including most of this one, even knowing how deeply you were getting involved in everything. That’s... well, I would find it hard to forgive.”

“I am not even thinking about forgiveness yet,” she admitted to him. “I am just trying to do what must be done and prevent this from escalating any more. Let’s see _what_ I have to forgive first—what, if anything, happens due to this.”

* * *

As soon as she stepped outside the Hawke house, she overheard muffled, attenuated shouts. As she walked up the streets of Hightown to approach the Keep, she realized where the noises were coming from. A mob of furious protesters, some well-dressed and therefore probably from Hightown, and others less so, were standing outside the Viscount’s residence, screaming curses and epithets. Some were throwing rotten fruit and garbage.

“Step down!” screamed an angry woman who was waving a blood-red flag with the golden sunburst symbol of the Chantry overlaid with an arrow and the words “Kirkwall Supports the Good Priest” hand-painted on it. _The Good Priest,_ Caitlyn thought. _Is that what they call her now? And is that supposed to be a personal symbol for her? I... don’t know what I think of that._

As she stepped up towards the Keep, several protesters recognized her and shouted their approval. “Lady Hawke!” one of them exclaimed. “Why can’t we have _you_ instead? You and the Warden would never let _your_ boy join the horned heretics!”

_That we wouldn’t, but I certainly won’t tell you why,_ she thought darkly. 

“Hawke! Lady Hawke! He had the nerve to summon you? He has no authority to command any of us anymore! You tell him to step down!”

But there was no time to engage with the angry protesters. As she ascended the steps of the Keep, she became resolved to, in fact, tell Dumar to step down, just as she had threatened at home and just as the protesters wished. He had lost the confidence of his people, and she would impress that fact upon him.

* * *

Unfortunately Aveline was waiting for her inside the Keep, a look of anger on her face. Dumar sat miserably behind where she stood, gazing outward, but devoid of hope now.

“I know you are here to see His Grace,” Aveline began at once, “but he agrees that the matter that has come to my attention is urgent as well.”

“I hope that you can resolve both at once,” Dumar pleaded from his chair.

Caitlyn tried to avoid rolling her eyes or snorting in contempt, though she wanted to. How had this man ever managed to convince _anyone_ to support him as Viscount? Had his ascension been _entirely_ the work of Meredith Stannard, either an extralegal assumption of authority to install him, or a campaign of repeated lies to the titled folk of Kirkwall about his fitness to rule? She doubted she would ever know for certain.

“A pair of elves have killed a guardsman,” Aveline continued, her nostrils flaring, “and they fled to the Qunari, claiming to be new converts and seeking sanctuary! They are hiding in the Qunari compound, evading justice for their crime.”

Caitlyn glowered, not even attempting to hide her fury. “Wonderful,” she snapped. “A pair of murderers and a credulous fool of an heir—”

_“Caitlyn!”_ Aveline hissed with an anxious glance at Dumar.

Caitlyn scoffed, completely unconcerned with what Dumar might think. He did not even have the spine to pursue Sebastian, who had helped someone escape jail who had plotted to allow his assassination. He could not stand up to anybody. She had no fear of him—and her utter confidence was vindicated when Dumar sighed heavily, not contradicting her. Perhaps he even agreed.

Aveline sighed in resignation. “I do hope that we can convince the Arishok to dismiss the elves to us for justice. The Viscount’s son... if he came willingly, then there might be a problem. But who knows? They don’t have families in their culture,” she said hopefully, though Caitlyn thought she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself most of all. “Perhaps the Arishok does not fully understand just how grave an insult this is to Kirkwall and can be reasoned with to send Saemus away rather than risk war.”

Caitlyn barked a single dark laugh. “Have you spoken with him personally? He doesn’t think anything not of the Qun has any importance or value, and he has threatened the city repeatedly. But,” she continued, “I suppose we have to try to get him to turn over the killers. A  _false_ claim of conversion is surely a different matter.” She considered for a moment before adding, “I want to ask Anders if he wants to come along.”

* * *

Anders did want to join. She was a little surprised that he would leave the house, but he said that he saw her as being in greater danger than the other members of the household, and he would feel much better about there being an additional mage along. As they approached the compound, they noticed that the First Watchmen were on edge.

“Are you here to drag the little idiot out?” growled one of them.

“Not literally,” she said, hurrying up the stairs to the place.

“We can’t lose you, Serah Hawke,” he replied.

“Follow me to the entrance if you must,” she allowed, even as Aveline gave her a sharp look of disapproval for this endorsement of vigilantism, “but don’t demand to be let in. I promise you, I will _not_ let them harm us in there.”

“She means it,” Anders said in a low voice to the man.

The Arishok was not pleased to see her. “Hawke,” he growled. “You conspire with the priest who is the great enemy of the Qun. Why should I treat with you or believe a word that you say, given that?”

That was not an auspicious beginning. Caitlyn attempted to control both her anger and her fear as she quickly thought of a reply. “This is my home,” she said in measured tones. “You command a foreign military force and you are the military head of your government. You have not told anyone what you want. I know what it is,” she said, visibly surprising him at this, “but that is because I was told by someone _else._ Your presence here in a fortified building and three years of silence have created unease and fear among my people.”

To her surprise, the Arishok was actually listening to what she said. She did not have much hope that her words would sway him, but at least he was thinking about them. She continued, “It isn’t wrong to defend one’s home, and the Qunari would do the same thing if outside forces took up a garrison on Par Vollen and sent teams to try to assassinate your leaders or spy on them.”

The Arishok was silent for a moment, contemplating. But if her words had persuaded him to anything beyond talking with her after all, he gave no verbal indication of that. When he spoke again, it was to discuss the matter at hand. “The one who was once the Viscount’s son has become viddathari willingly, as have the elves,” he stated. Caitlyn gazed past him, observing Saemus Dumar—who, to her irritation, stared back boldly, almost defiantly, at her—and the two elves. “They are part of our people now.”

Caitlyn realized at once that this was not going to go as Aveline and Dumar wanted it to, but she resolved to try. “Do they truly believe, or are they just foolishly infatuated, or sheltering behind your strength?” she asked.

“The one who was the Viscount’s son was being raised to rule. He may replace the former Ben-Hassrath that you captured and incited to betray the Qun. We shall see what he is suited for. And the other viddathari! Tell them why you killed the guard!” the Arishok barked at the elven converts.

One of them spoke up. “He forced himself on our sister,” he spat, “and no one listened to our complaints!”

A hot anger surged in Caitlyn, and she whirled on Aveline. “Is that true?” she demanded.

Aveline was taken aback. “No, I had no idea about this—but there is a procedure! We can’t just hang a man! We have to investigate the allegation.”

“Investigate?” the other elf scoffed. “We were turned away. They did not listen to us because we are elves and it was a human guard. So we did justice ourselves.”

“Even if the guard did this, even if no one listened, it doesn’t make what _you_ did right!” Aveline exclaimed.

“Yes, it does,” Caitlyn burst out.

Aveline stared at her friend as if she had never quite seen her. “Hawke!”

“Justice is justice,” Caitlyn said, her tone surprisingly dark even to her. “Why is it justice if _certain_ people, _certain_ institutions, do it, while it’s merely another crime if a regular person does it because nobody else will?”

Anders gazed at her in admiration and awe.

Aveline drew back slightly. “You really believe that?”

Anders put his arm around her waist in support. “I think she’s right.”

The Arishok spoke up again. “This is irrelevant. Their actions are mere symptoms. Your society is the disease. They have chosen. The viddathari will submit to the Qun and find a path your way has denied them.” He studied her intently. “Tell me, Hawke. What would you do in my place?”

_I would tell the elves that the society they want to join practices institutional rape and if you protest it, they melt your brains or excommunicate and kill you. I would tell Saemus that being told he “was once the Viscount’s son” is only the beginning of how his individuality will be taken from him. But if that did not work... I would let them believe and live as they wanted, even if I hated their choice. That’s all I want for anyone._

She sighed. “I would do as you have done.”

“Hawke!” Aveline exclaimed again. She turned to the Arishok angrily. “She speaks as a private citizen. Her convictions are... admirable... but carry no weight.”

“Actually, she speaks as the Viscount’s representative right now,” Anders muttered, giving Aveline the evil eye.

“However, I am the Captain of the Guard. I enforce the law of this city, and I demand that you surrender the elven fugitives!”

The Arishok tensed. All satisfaction drained from his face. “You came too late, Hawke. I warned you that this would be necessary one day, and that day has come. _Vinek kathas!”_

Caitlyn and Anders did not understand Qunlat, but it needed no translation that the Qunari soldiers surrounding the Arishok drew their weapons and prepared to hack and shoot. She and Anders barely had time to throw up their magical shields that protected against most physical projectiles as they all dashed for the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my rather obvious dislike of the Qun, I tried to be a bit fairer to the Arishok here in his conversation with Caitlyn, and I do think the elves were in the right with their vigilante justice and also should have been left alone to believe as they saw fit provided that they left along with the others for Par Vollen. But the Arishok still sacks Kirkwall, murders at least one person (the aging Viscount) who can’t defend himself, and he demands Isabela even after he has the Tome of Koslun in hand, so I can’t see him as a sympathetic, honorable figure caught in bad circumstances. Not even in this AU. The vigilantes have not attacked him.


	9. Learn How To Smile As You Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _There’s room at the top, they’re telling you still_  
>  _But first you must learn how to smile as you kill_  
>  _If you want to be like all the folks on the hill_  
>  _A working class hero is something to be_
> 
> Song “Working Class Hero” by John Lennon and covered by Green Day.

There was no time to be lost. As soon as the small group reached the entrance to the Qunari compound, Caitlyn whirled around to identify the First Watchmen who had stayed behind. They were already drawing their weapons, aware of what was happening.

“Why couldn’t you have kept your bloody mouth shut?” Caitlyn snarled at Aveline, furious. “I could’ve talked him down!”

Aveline bristled. “Are you blaming me for what they’re—”

The gates burst open, and a squadron of Qunari gave bellowing war cries as they emerged quickly. A sharp wooden click filled the air, and a crossbow bolt from one of the Watchmen’s weapons tore through the chest of the first soldier.

The Qunari were enraged. The soldier immediately behind the fallen one gave a shout of anger in his own tongue and swung his warhammer in a wide arc, knocking down several of the Watchmen with the blow. Those who could tried to scramble back to their feet, and the assault had only enraged those who were not caught directly in it.

“Defenders of Kirkwall!” screamed the one who had shot the crossbow. “This is your hour! For the city and the Maker!”

Caitlyn tried to avoid rolling her eyes at the dramatic exclamation and refused to think at this moment about the explicitly religious motivation. As she, Anders, and Aveline ran down the stairs to raise the rest of the city and find their other companions, she finally responded to Aveline’s indignant remark.

“I’m not blaming anyone but them for what _they_ are doing,” she said, “but I wanted them to leave peacefully, and between you and Isabela—”

They dashed through the streets of Lowtown toward the Hanged Man. “What did Isabela do?” asked Aveline.

“She is the reason they’re here!” Caitlyn exclaimed. “She took their Tome of Koslun and then lost it. She thinks she’s got a lead on it.”

“Or she knew they were about to attack and decided to get out of town,” Anders said darkly.

She gave him a startled look. That was cynical—but it might be true.  _ She didn’t know that Aveline would provoke the Arishok, _ Caitlyn thought,  _ but she might have known about Saemus Dumar. _ She hoped that Anders was wrong, but she could not escape the fact that Isabela had lied for three years, even knowing that Caitlyn was becoming heavily involved with Kirkwall politics and had even engineered the replacement of the former Grand Cleric with a new, highly anti-Qunari one.  _ And all for coin, _ Caitlyn thought as she entered the street where the pub stood.  _ She claimed she wanted to protect me, but what she really wanted to protect was her windfall, which she wouldn’t get if we helped her find the Tome and made her return it to the Qunari peacefully. _

People were emerging from buildings with weapons in hand, ready to fight. As they reached the Hanged Man, they saw that the three people they were looking for were already there. Varric, Fenris, and Merrill were standing guard, dire expressions on their faces. Merrill was openly carrying her mage’s staff.

Caitlyn slowed down as they approached their other companions and tried to catch her breath. “All right,” she said, her pace slowing. “We have... a little time. A minute or two, unless....” She closed her eyes and suddenly felt ill. She had been wary and alarmed about a group of armed, radicalized vigilantes, but it seemed very likely now that every one of the Watchmen would die in defense of Kirkwall—and not even wholly prevent the Qunari from attacking. The Qunari had strength of numbers. She just hoped that the Watchmen’s stand would diminish those numbers.  _ I won’t let their sacrifice be in vain, _ she vowed.

Anders seemed to understand. He placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. She opened her eyes, gathering strength from his support, and continued. “The vigilantes at the docks are fighting, but I doubt they can stop the attack. Their lives have bought us time, and we must use it. Aveline,” she said, “you need to rally the City Guard.”

Aveline nodded. “And someone must protect the Keep.”

“The Keep, where there is _still_ a traitor who conspired with Elthina,” she growled. “Unless that traitor was Meredith... but... we can’t do anything about that right now. Just rally them. Varric and Fenris... you should go with her. Raise the city along the way. Everyone who can fight, needs to.”

Varric glanced quickly down the street. “I think they’ve realized that.”

“Merrill, you, Anders, and I will take on the Saarebas when they appear. We need to stick together and protect the Keep... and the Chantry.” She realized that, to the Arishok, the headquarters of the priest he had declared “the great enemy of the Qun” would be a prime target.

“The Templars should defend the Chantry,” Anders disagreed as the group resumed their run through the streets.

“Do you think Meredith will order them to abandon the mages to defend a priest who is aligned with her foe?” she said darkly. “She’s made it perfectly clear for three years whom she considers the bigger threat.”

He scowled at that idea, unable to argue—and then, as the group rounded a corner, a small squad of Qunari, including three Saarebas, attacked.

Their magic was raw and ill-trained, but it was powerful, and a blast of lightning knocked Caitlyn to the ground. Her hair stood on end as the shock coursed over her body. “Go!” she screamed at the three non-mages. “Run!”

“But....” began Varric.

“Go to the Keep!”

Aveline understood. With a pained look on her face, she nodded and turned away, cleaving off the sword arm of one of the attacking Qunari as she did, to at least inflict some damage with her exit. Fenris followed, breaking free of the melee with a swing that sent a spray of blood through the air as its target staggered from the deadly chest wound.

Varric was reluctant to leave even after being told, but he finally resigned himself to it. As the non-mages ran, the surviving Qunari who were non-mages began to pursue them, leaving the Saarebas to fight Caitlyn, Anders, and Merrill. Varric scowled and pulled Bianca’s trigger. A crossbow bolt thudded through the neck of the one who had blasted Caitlyn to the ground.

“See you at the Keep,” the dwarf said as he finally took off, shooting at the Qunari who were pursuing Aveline and Fenris.

To the mages’ absolute astonishment, the Saarebas that Varric had shot was still fighting despite the mortal wound he bore.  _ They have been trained to fight to the end of their lives, _ Caitlyn thought.  _ They don’t know healing magic. To die for the Qun is all that they are taught to do. How can we fight people who see it as weakness to step away from combat to regroup and heal? _

But they had to, and she knew it. Somehow, they had to outlast people who had been trained to fight without stopping until the last bit of life left their bodies.  _ It’s not weakness for us, _ she thought,  _ and that’s the advantage we have. _

Anders cast a powerful spell, finally felling the wounded Saarebas, and while Merrill was engaged with the two remaining ones, he reached his hand down to Caitlyn. Gratefully she grabbed it and let him pull her to her feet. He cast a strong, glowing blast of healing magic, revitalizing her at once.

Merrill was surrounded by a shield of rock, green light, and grayish entropic vapor. She screamed a Dalish curse at the Qunari as she wounded another one, but Caitlyn knew that she could not hold both of them off indefinitely—and  _ she  _ herself was the best battlemage of this group by far. Merrill needed her help....

The Saarebas who was not wounded snarled and sent a blast at Anders, making him stagger backwards and clutch his side in pain. For a moment, the bluish-white light of Justice blazed from his eyes as the spirit attempted to heal him, but he was still wincing and out of the fight for the time being.

The sight of Anders in pain enraged Caitlyn.  _ He targeted Anders because he is a Healer, _ she thought furiously, letting the rage flow through her and suffuse her with magical power.  _ They don’t know healing magic, but they know to target our Healers! You won’t do it again, you horned animal, nor any others of your savage people. _

Somewhere in the back of Caitlyn’s mind, a part of her was shocked and disapproving of the fact that she had such a thought—that in the heat of anger, she had thought of her foe in such terms after attempting to be fair and only disapprove of their philosophy, or their actions against her city right now. But that was not the most prominent part of her right at this moment. A red miasma of fury was overtaking her.  _ You know what to do, _ whispered another voice in her head.  _ Do it. _

All her promises to herself and Anders about blood magic forgotten, she took a heavy breath, reached for her blade, and sliced a wound in her arm in one swift movement. She clenched her fist and screamed an oath at the Qunari.

A red stream splashed through the air, spattering the ground, filling the air with a metallic reek. The Saarebas who had already been wounded fell to the cobblestones, a gaping wound in his midsection that was leaving a dark red puddle at their feet by the second. He was dying quickly. The last Saarebas was also bleeding, though he was still able to stand on his feet and fight.

But Caitlyn’s hemorrhage spell had also caught Merrill. The elf’s magical shields collapsed as she could no longer maintain them. She wavered, then tumbled to her knees. Blood dripped from beneath her Dalish armor, streaming through her fingers as she pressed the wound her friend had accidentally inflicted on her, and as she bent her head, she choked up more of her own blood. She raised her head in shock, elven eyes wide with horror.

Caitlyn was backing away, stunned and horrified at what she had just done. “Merrill,” she whispered, her own eyes equally wide. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—oh, Maker—” Her face crumpled. Had the voice that had urged her to do this even been her own thoughts? Suddenly she was not sure—and that terrified her even more.  _ If it’s a rage demon— _

“It’s... not... your fault,” gasped Merrill. She cast a weak healing spell at herself, but it did not stanch the flow of blood.

“What? Yes it is!”

The Qunari mage saw their moment of shock, and despite his own wound, he attempted to seize the advantage. His fists glowed as he prepared a spell to blast the entire group—and probably finish off Merrill.

“No!” Caitlyn shouted. For a dark moment she felt the strange pull to use the hemorrhage spell again, even after what she had just done, but she rejected it at once and blasted the Saarebas with ice instead. He froze solid. She finished him off with a lightning spell, toppling him to the ground even as Anders—finally recovered—cast a healing spell at Merrill.

The elf got to her feet, grimacing and clutching her side. She took a deep breath and stared at both of them.

“Merrill,” Caitlyn said, her voice weak and shaky. She wanted to cry at how fragile and vulnerable the elf looked right now—because of _her._ “I’m so sorry. I... didn’t mean to....” She closed her eyes, shaking. Of course Merrill would know that she hadn’t meant to do that. “I will never do it again.”

Anders was staring at her, unsure of what to say. Finally he spoke. “Justice thinks that... he thinks he perceived....” He trailed off, unable to finish it.

_ Oh, Maker. _ A sob of agony and failure escaped her. “I know. I was angry and it seemed like....” She shook, suddenly overcome with fear for what had almost happened. “I will  _ never  _ do it again. And I’m still myself. It didn’t get me.”  _ I think it might have tried if I’d listened to it the second time, _ she realized, provoking another shudder of terror. “It just... whispered to me.”

“Then it wasn’t your fault, as I said,” Merrill said quietly.

“Merrill!” she exclaimed. “Don’t absolve me of this. I listened to a rage demon in my anger and almost _killed_ you. That _is_ my fault.”

“Listened to a demon...” Merrill repeated quietly, her gaze cast down, her words directed at herself.

Anders did not say a word in disagreement with Caitlyn. He stood aside silently, watching, as the two blood mages reckoned with what had just taken place.

“I... don’t know if I can still fight,” Merrill finally said. “I don’t feel good. I lost a lot of blood....”

Caitlyn felt horrible. Her action had just cost them a defender. What would happen, now, because of this? Would someone die, someone whom Merrill would have been able to save?

_ I will never know for sure, _ she told herself, trying to get a grip on her emotions.  _ I can’t let this overcome me now. There will be time to reckon with this later. _ “I’m so sorry,” she said again to her friend. “Do you think you can go to Hightown, to my mother’s house? My mabari will be there to help, but he’s otherwise the only defender that they have. Hopefully the Qunari won’t bother with locked buildings, so you  _ should  _ be out of combat anyway. And if the path there is dangerous, then protect yourself and seek shelter.”

Merrill nodded. She took a deep breath, squeezed Caitlyn’s hand, gave her a regretful look, and turned aside toward Hightown.

When she was gone, Caitlyn turned to Anders, her green eyes wide. He did not offer to embrace her, but continued to stare at her pointedly. She knew that she deserved that, not comfort and a reassurance that everything would be all right. Everything would  _ not  _ be all right unless she kept to her word, and she knew it. That realization broke her.

“I meant what I said,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t do it again. I....” She turned aside miserably. “I don’t want you to have to....” _Say it,_ she told herself. _Acknowledge the reality of what will happen._ “To see me as a rage abomination and have to put me down.”

A cry escaped Anders at that, and he did move to her at last, wrapping his arms around her. “Don’t say that!” he exclaimed, hugging her.

“It’s what would happen. You know it. You feared it would be you... that Justice would become Vengeance... but _I_ have been the one dabbling with blood magic for two years, telling myself that I had it under control and _I_ wasn’t the one who had to worry about Fade beings.... Maker, it would’ve been a pride demon if I hadn’t been so angry when one made its move at last... and those are a lot harder to fight, my father told me....”

Anders did not know what to say. She was right, and that was the hardest part of it. It was a horrible idea to contemplate, but she was right. At last he said, “And you  _ realize  _ that. You know it and you accept now that it really could happen.”

“It took hemorrhaging a friend in the middle of combat for me to see it,” she whispered, clinging to him.

“Maybe she will see it too. She was looking as if she might.”

Caitlyn choked down a sob. “I hope so. If we  _ both  _ can stop this... then maybe... I won’t say it was ‘worth it,’ but....”

“You can’t force her to do, or stop doing, anything. But you _can_ do that yourself. Please, Cait.”

She took a deep breath and drew away gently from his embrace, facing him, a new resolve in her eyes. “It ends  _ now,” _ she vowed.

He managed a weak smile. “Then let’s go save Kirkwall.”

* * *

Since there were only the two of them now, they tried to avoid engaging large groups of Qunari—but as they made their way through the streets of town, they did take the opportunity to remove isolated fighters whenever they could, ambushing them if possible. The civilians of Kirkwall who could fight were ready to do so, at least, and it became clear to Caitlyn and Anders that encountering skilled resistance in every corner of the city had made the task for the Qunari much more difficult than it otherwise might have been.

The news that, as Caitlyn had feared, all of the First Watchmen had fallen had also motivated the people of Kirkwall to avenge them.

“Maybe Petrice’s assorted admirers and adherents will get it out of their systems today, by helping defend their city,” he said in an undertone to her after a fight with a knot of Qunari with which several civilians had helped. None of them were put off by the fact that Caitlyn was openly using magic, at least.

“Maybe so,” she agreed. “I was nervous about what was happening, but if they use their rage for this, I can’t say a word against it. The Qunari attacked first.”

When they reached the steps that led to Hightown, Anders muttered curses under his breath at the sight before him. Meredith Stannard stood in the path, flanked by Knight-Captain Cullen and another Templar, a female one, and she looked very smug indeed at the sight of an ostentatious staff in Caitlyn’s hand.

Anders moved forward protectively, but she realized what he was about to do. “Do not even try to claim that it’s yours,” she said coolly. “I have suspected for years that Hawke was an apostate.”

Caitlyn could hardly believe her ears. She clutched the staff and glared back at the Templars defiantly. “Kirkwall is under attack,” she snarled. “Are you actually going to fight  _ me  _ while the Arishok is leading his soldiers in a sack of the city?”

“No,” she replied. “In fact, the circumstances are dire enough that I have decided to authorize a few Harrowed mages to fight, with Templars supervising them. But after the Qunari are defeated, you are going to the Circle.”

“We’ll see about that,” snarled Anders menacingly. Blue light crackled briefly on his hands—but nowhere else, so the Templars did not suspect anything other than a burst of magic.

“Indeed we shall, _Warden._ But for now, Ser Cullen, Ser Agatha, and I fight for Kirkwall,” said Meredith. She gestured for the others to let them through.

* * *

“You’re going to have to talk to the Grand Cleric at once,” Anders said as they ran up the streets of Hightown. They had tried to rally the Hightown folk who had pledged support to Caitlyn, but none of them could be found at their homes. Caitlyn hoped that this did not mean that they were all killed.

“I know.”

“She means it. And I swear before the Maker—I _won’t_ let them do it. I swear, I will take you and Mal and your mother and we will flee this wretched place with the clothes on our backs if we have to—”

“Anders,” she said, “I won’t let her do it either.”

He breathed heavily, catching his breath as they rounded a corner. “I know. But—damn it. I’d say I can’t believe that she’s still targeting you in the middle of this, but I can. I absolutely can. You  _ have  _ to find Petrice....”

“Anders, I _will.”_

They rounded another corner—and immediately found themselves face-to-face with Varric, Fenris, Ser Marlein Selbrech, Ser Thrask, Petrice, and Varnell. Every person in the group was armed, and every blade was bloodied, much to Caitlyn’s surprise. She had not known that Ser Marlein or Petrice could actually fight, but the dual daggers they each carried were slick with red.

“Where’s Merrill?” Varric asked.

Caitlyn cringed with guilt. “She was badly wounded. I sent her to my mother’s house to recuperate... and protect them if it came to it.”

“The First Watchmen have fallen,” Varnell declared angrily. “They gave their lives to the last man and woman to try to prevent this. At least they took down numerous Qunari with them....”

“I heard about it in Lowtown,” Caitlyn said somberly. “Grand Cleric... we have an additional problem. Anders and I encountered Meredith Stannard....”

Petrice glowered. “You do not mean to say....”

“She’s threatened to arrest Caitlyn as soon as this is over,” Anders said.

“It won’t happen. But for now... we have a bigger problem.”

“What is—”

“They have broken into the Keep,” Fenris said dourly. He glared in the direction of the structure. “We think that the Arishok changed his strategy once it became apparent to him that people were fighting back everywhere in the city. We think he led a special group through Darktown that popped out somewhere here and then began to besiege the Keep.”

“Three years!” Caitlyn exploded. “Of course they had the chance to learn about all of the connecting passages in the city, and Darktown has been preyed upon by criminal gangs for so long that everyone who lives there, criminal or not, would want keep to their own business to minimize danger. Nobody would pick a fight with a group of Qunari passing through!” As she raged, something utterly horrible occurred to her. “There’s a direct connection to Darktown from the basement—my mother and Mal—and I told them to try to _escape_ through the passages if they were threatened....”

Anders looked sick for a moment too, but he managed to rally. “They have the mabari and Merrill with them,” he said. “And if the Qunari were targeting the Keep, that would’ve been their goal, not exacting revenge on you. That exit is a secret anyway; hardly anyone knows of its existence, let alone where it leads. They would have emerged from one that led directly to the street....”

“There hasn’t been much fighting in Hightown—yet,” Ser Marlein offered. “I think their objective was the Keep.”

Caitlyn still looked very upset and worried, and Thrask spoke up. “I will check on them,” he said.

She felt as if she should tell him not to go, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Nodding quickly and gratefully, she took a deep breath and finally realized that someone was missing. “What about Aveline? Is she all right?”

“She was leading the City Guard in Lowtown, where most of the fighting was occurring,” Varric replied.

“If we are to defend the Keep, we have to have them here. That or the Circle mages that Meredith has claimed she’s allowing to fight.”

“Abandon the people of Lowtown to save nobles in the Keep?” said Fenris.

Caitlyn closed her eyes, seeing his point. It was a bad choice, either way. She sighed heavily as she opened her eyes again and gazed out at the others. “We won’t take both groups of fighters. Let’s get the mages.” She glowered in the direction of the Gallows. “Does anyone know if they’re fighting yet?”

“We didn’t encounter any on the way here,” said Varric.

Anders scowled. “Why does _that_ not surprise me?”

Caitlyn gripped her staff tightly, her face set in anger and determination. “Then let’s see the Knight-Commander. Viscount Dumar....” She sighed. “It is probably too late to save him. I didn’t want this to happen. He was weak and foolish, but he wasn’t a bad person and didn’t deserve this.”

As they approached the Keep en route to the Gallows, they realized that the Circle mages were actually there. An older middle-aged elf in mage robes, whom Caitlyn vaguely recognized as First Enchanter Orsino, was leading the mages in their attack on the structure. Even more surprisingly to her, Meredith and the other two Templars were fighting as well.

Caitlyn led her group to the steps, noting the bloodied, dismembered, and hacked-apart bodies that rested there—a mix of all four races.  _ This wasn’t what I wanted, _ she thought miserably.  _ I am a vulture, picking the bones of the dead for myself. _ The nightmare that would not leave her head returned again, the diadem of Kirkwall dripping blood for miles behind her.

Meredith glowered at Caitlyn as she approached, scowling even more at the sight of Petrice with them. “They have barred the gate,” she bit off.

“And you can’t bash through it with your little sword, can you?” Anders said, unable to resist. He opened his left hand and began to ready a spell, a blast of rock.

“I have no authority over _you,_ but what you threaten is _exactly_ why I am right—”

Caitlyn cut in front, not interested in listening to this right now. “Mages, all together!” She readied a spell herself, a fireball.

“Everyone back up!” exclaimed Orsino. He glowered at the door.

Caitlyn, Anders, Orsino, and the Circle mages sent their spells at the heavy doors as one. Fire, stone, ice, raw entropy—all hit the doors at the same time. It happened in a second: The doors strained, then creaked, then burst open in a shower of fragments.

Caitlyn was prepared to be attacked the moment they blasted their way in, and she was not wrong. The Qunari who had been holding the doors closed had fallen, but archers began to shoot at the group at once. Caitlyn did not hesitate for a second; she threw up a magical shield that would block most projectiles—at the cost of allowing her to cast spells through it, but her goal was to reach the Arishok, and she did not waver. She glanced back unhappily as everyone in the group except for Anders immediately became engaged with the Qunari fighters, but there was nothing she could do. At least the Circle mages were there.

Anders stumbled behind her and took her arm, gazing at her. “Please,” he said quietly. “Please don’t do anything rash. Meredith won’t take you to the Gallows, I swear. Even if Petrice falls now, I  _ promise  _ you, we will leave this place. Our son needs you.  _ I  _ need you. Don’t be a martyr.”

His face was so sincere, so worried, that she almost wanted to stop right there and give him a kiss. But there was no time for that, so the best that she could do was reassure him. “Anders,” she said, “I wouldn’t do that to you.” She touched his cheek for a moment, smiling weakly. “I promise.”

They gazed back at the group of fighters. A couple of mages had been wounded, but many more Qunari had fallen, and it was apparent already that her friends and allies—some albeit very short-term allies—were going to win.

That moment of relief did not last, as the sounds from within the inner Keep reached his ears.

_“Here is your Viscount!”_

Gasps and cries of dismay echoed through the door before them.

“Look at you. Like fat _dathrasi_ you feed and feed and complain only when your meal is interrupted!”

The group at the shattered doors finished off the last of the Qunari, Varric’s trusty weapon sending a bolt between the eyes of an archer. They hurried forward as Caitlyn and Anders gingerly approached the door behind which the Arishok was ranting.

“You do not look up. You do not see that the grass is bare. All you leave in your wake is misery. You are blind, but _I will make you see!”_

Caitlyn readied another burst of magic, fury building in her. She did not disagree with the Arishok’s assessment of the Kirkwall nobility, but she was quite sure that she held her views for a very different reason. _I disdain them because they don’t care about the city or the poor, and turn a blind eye to the mistreatment of mages,_ she thought. _He sent his soldiers to Lowtown to sack the city, slay the poor or take them captive, and he approves horrific abuse of mages._ With a snarl, she blasted this door open.

The Arishok whirled around to face her. His face was set in anger. Before his feet cowered the assembled nobility of Kirkwall who had not the skill or courage to fight and had sought to take shelter in the Keep rather than even remaining with their families. There were no children here, she observed; they had abandoned their children at home and come here.

At the feet of one man rolled the decapitated head of Viscount Dumar.

“Hawke,” the Arishok growled, reaching for his weapon. “I should have known that you would come.” He studied her for a moment, then glared. “You share my contempt for these people. I see it in your face.”

She readied her staff. “I have contempt for those who slay the defenseless. Is this what the Qun demands? They are useless to you, so you decree their deaths?”

Footsteps pattered behind her as the others caught up with her and Anders.

“They are unworthy,” sneered the Arishok. “You know this. That one”—he kicked Dumar’s head toward a cowering nobleman, who shrieked and leaped away—“was unworthy.”

“They are _people,”_ she replied through clenched teeth. “You don’t even understand that _idea._ To you, people are nothing except what they can _do,_ and if they can’t do anything of use to you....” She broke off, gesturing around the room. “You murdered people because you are angry about a _book._ A thing.”

“It is more than a book,” he snarled. “It is the life, the soul, of the Qunari people. It is worth a hundred of this city!” He glared at her. “And we cannot leave until we have it. What _now,_ Hawke?”

“Did you really think I was going to let you _leave_ after this, Tome or not?”

Anders gasped and tried to pull her back.

“Hawke!”

Everyone’s head turned in the direction of the open door, where leather boots stamped rapidly down the hallway. A panting woman reached the threshold and slumped against it, gasping for breath.

“Isabela!”

Isabela held out the Tome of Koslun. “I believe I have what you’re looking for.”

“Isabela, you cannot be serious!” Caitlyn exclaimed. “After what they did, how many people they have killed today!”

Another person appeared, panting too. Ser Thrask had returned from the Hawke mansion. He met Caitlyn’s eyes, a smile on his face, and nodded quickly. _They are all right,_ she thought. For a half second, she reconsidered the direction of her thoughts. _Would it not be better, more sensible, to walk away from this and return home to my family? Let Kirkwall go to the Void. If I defeat the Arishok, I will have to take over this accursed place myself and deal with Meredith. I’ll have to keep Petrice from finding a new enemy. I will probably have to fight a Chantry schism over mage rights. Who needs that? I have reason to run; Meredith knows what I am and has threatened me with the Circle. I don’t have to do this. I can take Mother and Mal, and the pets, and run away with Anders.... My friends can come too if they want.... We can leave this all behind and finally have that quiet, anonymous life that was taken from us seven years ago... just live privately somewhere, on our little farm...._

The Arishok ignored the argument and the Templar as he stormed ahead. “This is the Tome of Koslun,” he said, his voice suddenly calmer—but only for a moment. “I told you that we could not leave until we had it. But,” he continued, his gaze fixing upon Isabela, “we will also take the thief with us.”

With that, the temptation that had been flooding Caitlyn’s mind vanished, replaced with cold reality. “She isn’t going anywhere and neither are you.”

“Caitlyn,” Anders said in a warning tone. He reached for her arm again.

She pulled loose and faced the Arishok. “Isabela concealed this from me for years. I’m not happy with her either. But she will have her absolution _here,_ among her own people, according to _our_ laws—and you will answer for what you have done today.” She paused before adding, “I wanted you to go home peacefully. If you had not done this, I would have given you the Tome and let you go. But that chance is gone.”

The Arishok erupted in fury. “You challenge me?”

She glanced back at Thrask once more, thinking of her family, steeling herself. “Yes. I challenge you.”

Anders sucked in his breath, anger and fear settling into his face. Caitlyn felt bad for a moment; he had not wanted her to risk herself. However, a hot rage was boiling in her right now, and the only people she was sure would fight in her place were her friends—and she could not ask that of any of them.

The Arishok bellowed his angry acceptance, confident that he could cleave a female Saarebas as he had done the defenseless old man who had been the Viscount of Kirkwall. As the intimidating figure stormed toward the door, to have the duel in the larger space in the main hall, Caitlyn’s heart failed her for a moment. _What have I just done?_ she thought as he passed. _Was Anders right? Should I not have taken this risk?_

But it was too late to back down now without being seen as a coward in front of the Kirkwall nobles—even though not a single one of them had even tried to defend the Viscount, based on the fact that the Arishok was uninjured. These fools believed that the courage of long-dead ancestors, whose exploits might have earned their titles originally, passed on to them and gave them the right to judge. As Caitlyn strode out the door, trying to maintain a courageous face, she felt contempt rising within her for these people, who followed behind as if to watch slave gladiators fight to the death in a Tevinter coliseum. _Enjoy it while you can,_ Caitlyn thought angrily. _If I survive and become Viscountess, I will strip the titles of the most worthless. I will not steal anyone’s wealth, but no one will bear a title without some accompanying responsibility, like the lords in Ferelden have. These court parasites have no duties to anything._ The Knight-Commander was even smirking faintly, pleased at the idea that her adversary might be killed outright and that she wouldn’t even have to bloody her own hands in the Circle. Caitlyn could not even think of her anger for _that._

But none of her friends, none of the allies who had come with them, and not even Knight-Captain Cullen or Ser Agatha accepted this. _They are angry. They are angry that Kirkwall’s leaders were so derelict in their duty that a young mother has to fight a duel in single combat with the Qunari military leader to dislodge an occupying force. They are indignant and they want me to win, even the Templars that I don’t know personally,_ she thought, taking note of their anxious and angry but encouraging faces. Well... Anders’ face was just anxious and angry, but that was no surprise. _I will make it up to him later tonight,_ she vowed—a promise to both of them that there would be a “later tonight” for her.

She and the Arishok faced off in a clearing in the great hall of the Keep, the crowd gathered around them to watch. Caitlyn tried to calm her thoughts. _Focus,_ she thought. _I am angry at many people right now, but the one I am about to duel is extremely disciplined, well-trained, and physically strong—and he is a murderer. He will not go easy on me. He thinks I am just a “dangerous thing” that has exceeded its proper limits, not a person. Block everything else out right now and focus on this._

When she raised her first glowing spell, several of the Kirkwall nobles gasped in surprise—and if Caitlyn had allowed herself to think of anything but the task before her, she would have felt additional contempt for the fact that they had not even noticed that she was carrying a staff. But she had succeeded in focusing her determination and anger on the Arishok, as he charged for her, his large sword raised in the air.

He was big and menacing—but he was very slow, both to run and to swing his blade. He also had enough massive muscularity that he could not stop his own momentum very quickly. Caitlyn was petite and fit, and it gave her plenty of time to dart away from him, even waiting till the last second—which she quickly learned was the best thing to do, to take advantage of the Arishok’s trouble changing his own direction once he was moving. The swings of his blade were lethal if they connected, but they were also slow and easy to dodge. The Arishok was strong, and even as she hit him with spells, he kept going—but he was starting to show signs of fatigue from it. She would just have to chip away at him, she realized. One big dramatic spell to finish him was not a possibility—except for, perhaps, a huge blood magic spell, but she was determined never to use that again, and she could not use it _here_ in any case. _But I don’t need it,_ she thought. _I do not have to use that to defend myself._

In this fight, Caitlyn realized that everything she had learned about combat—from her father, her friends, even from the smuggling leader Athenril—had coalesced in her exactly when she needed it most.

The Arishok let out an angry roar as he realized that the foe he had thought an easy kill was evading him and slowly defeating _him._ His heavy footsteps slowed as he stopped running, then turned around to face her, merely a few feet from her—to her surprise. Was he about to change his approach?

He did not swing his blade. Instead he clenched his fist and swung a massive arm back, the dull blow throwing her to the ground and knocking the wind out of her lungs. The crowd exclaimed, and as she looked up, gasping for breath, scrambling to her feet, she saw alarm and fright in all of her friends’ faces. Aveline was there now, she realized vaguely; at some point she must have returned to the Keep with the surviving guards. But she focused on one face in particular in that seemingly eternal moment. In Anders’ face, despair and utter terror stared back at her. That was more than enough. _I will not let him watch me die,_ she vowed, getting to her feet despite the bruise on her side. _I will not let him have a memory of watching my body be cleaved apart, or have to tell our son that his mother will never hug him again. I will not condemn him to a cold, lonely bed._ With that, she summoned the most powerful ice spell that she could—encasing the Arishok as he stood, his deadly blade frozen in the middle of an arc.

Caitlyn barely heard the crowd exhale in momentary relief as she darted across the makeshift arena as far away from the Arishok as she could. Anders would have healed her himself, that she knew, but these idiots would consider it dishonorable to receive help from “spectators,” even in a duel with a foreign general who had slain their head of state. While the Arishok stood frozen, she cast the general-purpose healing spell on the bruise, feeling energy and comfort restored to her as the magic passed through her.

She got the Arishok with a second frost spell just as the first one was thawing. One thing she had learned from their three years’ residence here was that they were particularly susceptible to cold, apparently because their people came from the warm tropical north and were acclimated to heat. It was difficult to cast the same spell in rapid succession, but she had the advantage now and she was not going to forfeit it. Qunari bodies were fairly resistant to fire, but there were other things she could do. As soon as that second ice spell struck the Arishok, she took a breath and blasted him with an arcing bolt of lightning, further disorienting him. Then, when the ice thawed off, she stunned him with a spell that targeted the mind with a crippling hallucination and used this moment to hit him again and again with nearly everything she had that would do damage—raw entropy, cold, lightning, summoned earth and rock, everything except blood and fire.

It was enough.

The crowd watched in awe as the massive, hulking man finally collapsed on his back, his sword falling from his grip, utter shock apparent in his face that he had lost a one-on-one duel to a human woman and a mage—but acknowledging it, as the life left him. _“We... shall... return,”_ he managed to get out as his last words.

When he breathed his last, the assembled nobles applauded.

_Like sheep,_ Caitlyn thought, gazing out in disdain at the smiling faces.  _It’s as if an entire district in their city didn’t just get sacked, and dozens of people with more courage and loyalty to Kirkwall than any of these didn’t just die. And even if they care nothing about Lowtown because Lowtown is poor, they let the Arishok murder Dumar too. Oh yes, there will be titles lost soon._

Her gaze shifted to the faces of her friends, allies, and Anders—who was now relieved, but utterly furious with her. They, at least, had somberness in the mix of the emotions that they displayed. They understood what had been lost. She gazed at Knight-Captain Cullen and Ser Agatha standing beside him. They were uncomfortable with what they had just witnessed; that much was clear—but they seemed able to accept it, though Cullen was struggling.

Then Caitlyn looked at Meredith Stannard.

The Knight-Commander of Kirkwall was gazing at the victorious mage like a predator ready to spring, to take advantage of Caitlyn’s tiredness from the duel and make her move, fully aware that none of these so-called nobles would stir to stop her except perhaps for Ser Marlein Selbrech. Meredith began to draw her sword from its sheath. Anders’ expression changed as he saw what was about to happen—but before Caitlyn herself fully realized it, another voice was speaking.

“It appears that the city of Kirkwall has a Champion,” announced Petrice, staring hard into the cold eyes of Meredith.

The nobles applauded and cheered dutifully.

“And as Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, by the authority vested in me by Divine Justinia V as a high priest of Our Lady Andraste, I hereby declare this woman free of the Circle of Magi for life. As we have seen tonight, she has proved herself beyond question, having clearly been taught well by her late father and supported by her Grey Warden husband.”

A part of Caitlyn bristled inwardly at the idea of so much credit being given to men, even those she loved, but she understood what Petrice was doing. The priest was normalizing the idea of mages having family lives, of mages with parents, children, and spouses, and Caitlyn largely appreciated it.

“She has demonstrated for all to see that she exemplifies the Prophet’s command that _‘magic is meant to serve man.’_ The Champion will walk free, an example to all for what she has done tonight.”

Anders gave a whoop and almost jumped out to grab Caitlyn in an embrace, just barely restraining himself. In spite of everything, she was beaming too.  _The threat is over,_ she thought.  _At least... the threat of being publicly arrested. I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to leave my weapon behind, making myself more vulnerable. I will still be in danger from underhanded schemes, like Anders is himself, but I can stop pretending to be something I am not...._

_And now the danger of being hauled away has shifted to our son: the child of two known mages._

That sobering, dark thought cooled her joy—and then Meredith spoke.

“I object!” the Knight-Commander exclaimed heatedly. She glared at the priest, then at Caitlyn, as the applause and chatter from the onlookers subsided. “This apostate was seen running from the Qunari compound immediately as the attack began, accompanied by that Fereldan Warden.” She glared malevolently at Anders, refusing to acknowledge their marriage as legitimate with her cold description of him that utterly ignored it. “Merely days ago, they conspired with this new Grand Cleric, before she was such, to oust her predecessor—she, a known provocateur who incited hostilities with the Qunari through rallies and by encouraging lawless vigilantism! They provoked this attack for their own advantage—to seize power and to escape the rightful fate of an apostate mage!”

The useless aristocrats gave a collective gasp of shock and titillation at the prospect of a second duel tonight. Behind her, Caitlyn heard steel being unsheathed by one of her friends.

She decided that she had to put an end to this. Whatever Meredith might “object” to, Petrice’s words were final. There was nothing to fight over. That gave her the courage she needed. “It is fascinating,” she said, her words quickly becoming a sarcastic drawl, “that someone who did almost nothing—who, so far as I can see, spared only the Templars you see before you, and only allowed a few Circle mages to defend the Keep, now stands over the desecrated, decapitated corpse of the Viscount and blames the person who defeated his murderer and the priest who tried to prepare and warn this city!”

The crowd gave another excited exclamation.

“Were there other Templars fighting tonight, Meredith?” Caitlyn sneered. “Or other mages? Is your own sword even bloodied? Did you use Templar abilities to fell any Qunari mages? My friends and I felled _three._ While the City Guard defended the people of Lowtown, which took the brunt of the attack, and those ‘lawless vigilantes’ died _to the last man and woman_ to diminish the numbers of Qunari soldiers, you did as little as you could, and yet you dare condemn _us?”_

“The Champion is right,” spoke up one of the aristocrats, much to Caitlyn’s surprise. “Your priorities are misplaced, Knight-Commander.”

“Thank you for your support,” Caitlyn said crisply to the man. “Now, we have work to do. There is blood on the streets of Lowtown, and bodies of the fallen on the very steps of this building.” She turned to Aveline, eyebrows up.

“I have left a garrison in Lowtown to keep order,” she said at once. “We are rooting out the last attackers and blockading the building to keep those who remained inside from escaping until it is decided what to do with them.”

_If they didn’t participate in the attack, I don’t want to do anything to them except send them north,_ she thought,  _but that can be settled later._ “That’s good. In the meantime, I think that  _all_ of you should return to your own homes. Hug your families,” she urged them. Suddenly she was taken by the overpowering urge to see her mother and son again. “And we will all be on the streets tomorrow by sunrise to... begin the accounting.”

As she gathered her group together to leave the Keep, she spared one final glance at the Knight-Commander, who was standing as if frozen in anger, her eyes again bloodshot and her skin a pallor of icy fury.

* * *

Outside the Keep, Ser Marlein Selbrech turned to Caitlyn. “I know that you want to go home and see your mother and child,” she said, “and this won’t be long—but we really need to act, as soon as possible, after what we saw tonight from  _her.”_

“Yes,” Caitlyn said heavily, “we do.”

“I need to find de Launcet, Selby, and the others,” the woman continued, “and make a plan. Unfortunately we still have that Montfort hunting party in a week or so....”

Caitlyn suppressed a swear. “I wish we didn’t! That’s going to look awful, rich people going to an Orlesian chateau so soon after this.” She considered for a moment as an idea occurred to her. “If we really must go, then we need to raise money for Kirkwall there. For the families who lost someone, especially, but also, for rebuilding what was burned and destroyed.”

Ser Marlein nodded. “I understand. It’s a lovely idea. And we will hold the moot as soon as we all return, I think. Since the city is now without a Viscount and the heir—if he is even still alive—joined the Qunari, we cannot wait, or Meredith will usurp power to herself even with the new Grand Cleric.”

“I agree completely.”

Once the knight had left, Caitlyn turned to her companions. Anders and her friends were the only ones now with her group—the priest and Templars had returned to their own posts—and she had been thinking about what to do with one of them specifically. Her gaze fixed upon Isabela in a hard glare.

The pirate stared at the ground. “You know I didn’t want this.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Caitlyn ground out. “I think better of you than that, and I don’t blame you for what the Arishok commanded. He made his own choice, as did those who followed the order to slay civilians. But Isabela... you lied for three years about what was happening.”

“I wanted to....”

“To protect me?” she said bitterly. “How well did that work out? And let’s be honest: You wanted _coin,_ which would have been lost to you if we had recovered the book for you, because we would have wanted to return it to the Qunari peacefully.”

“It was never possible to get them to leave peacefully. You saw what happened. He demanded me. You know what he would have done to me?”

“Yes, I know,” she said, grimacing. “I do know. And maybe you’re right. Maybe there was no peaceful outcome that wasn’t morally abhorrent. I honestly have no idea whether they wanted the book because the leadership knows it contains some dark secret they don’t want out—perhaps that the way they govern is not what Koslun wrote, for all I know—or because they have this idea that there are things of the Qun and things of the ‘bas’ and the two should never mix. Maybe they just didn’t want their enemies to get it. Honestly, I don’t care, either. Maybe they don’t _have_ a full copy of their own and this is the last one—but that’s their fault if so. They are responsible for their own actions, whatever their reasoning might have been. I don’t _blame_ you for what they did... but I do blame you for lying to me for so long. I’ll never know what might have been possible if we’d been in on the secret from the start.”

Isabela sighed heavily.

“Oh... I’ve changed my mind, by the way,” Caitlyn added. “After what happened today, I am really not that interested in returning the Tome to them. Sell it if you want. To the _White Chantry_ if they will have it,” she said in a hard tone, aware that Fenris would not like anything that helped Tevinter, even after what he had seen today, “but sell it, by all means. However... every single copper that you make from the sale will go to rebuild Kirkwall and to compensate people who lost someone today. _Every. Last. Copper.”_

Isabela looked horrified at being ordered to give all of her coin to charity, but she could not bring herself to object.

* * *

As the group broke apart to go their various ways, leaving Anders and Caitlyn to head up the street to their house, she realized that the anger that she had seen before she had defeated the Arishok was emerging in him again. He was gripping her arm increasingly tightly as they neared the door.

“You’re angry with me,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t want you to risk yourself for this... but I’m not going to get into it here. Your mother and Mal are waiting for us.”

Leandra was almost fallen to pieces when her daughter and son-in-law entered the house. “Oh, my dears,” she exclaimed, falling into Caitlyn’s arms and bursting into tears. “I can’t believe it! I have been so frightened....”

She patted her mother on the back and drew away gently. “We’re all right, though. The Qunari have been defeated.”

“There is a rumor that Viscount Dumar....”

“He is dead,” she said regretfully. “But the one who slew him is also dead, by my hand.”

Leandra took that in for a moment before gasping. “By your hand? But then....”

“The new Grand Cleric has declared me free of the Circle, publicly and for everyone to hear, including the Knight-Commander.”

Mal emerged from the kitchen just as she had finished saying this. He let out a cry and rushed for his parents, who instantly smothered him in a hug.

“We’re all right,” she assured him, holding him close as Anders enveloped both of them in his bigger embrace. “We’re all right.”

_Are we, though?_ she thought to herself.  _Will we ever be all right? I have set things in motion now that I cannot stop. I am really going to do this... and I cannot forget the price. I cannot forget what happened. I cannot forget the—incident—with Merrill. I am going to have power. Can I trust myself with it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s always been strange to me that Meredith would not arrest a mage Champion as soon as the applause ended and people moved on to other things. She has been influenced by red lyrium for at least a year, probably longer, on top of her own native zealotry. On the other hand, the problem could be avoided in canon if Elthina rather than Meredith named the Champion. She could declare a mage free of the Circle, and she would have a reason to single out one mage as “special”: so that she could continue stringing the mages along and make them think she cared about them. It’s one of those things about this game that I think show the rushed production timeline; canon does not make sense and it wouldn’t have taken that much of a change to have it make sense.


	10. Shoot Out All the Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : There is a NSFW scene at the beginning that some might consider to verge on dubious consent. I have tried to make it as explicitly verbally consensual as I can given the circumstances (if you have read the previous story, it involves the use of enchanted Tevinter rings, which they actually have not used yet), but this is still a heads up in case you are very sensitive about it in fics.
> 
> Song: Fire/Aim Your Arrows High by VersaEmerge.

Merrill had recovered from the wounds that Caitlyn had given her, and she even managed an innocent, sincere, forgiving smile for her friend as she left the house, which further shamed Caitlyn. _This is the end,_ she vowed once more. _I defeated the Arishok of the Qunari, their top general and military commander, without resorting to blood magic. I do not need it._ The memory of the flu outbreak and the limited lyrium supply suddenly made an unwelcome intrusion, but she tried to dismiss it. _That will never be a “necessity” for me again. I will be able to get lyrium whenever I require it, since I no longer have to conceal what I am. No more blood. I originally vowed not to use it offensively, but I broke that promise repeatedly. Even if I kept it now, I might still hear the voice of that rage demon or another one. I have a quick temper and a passionate nature and anger is always going to be my vice. I shouldn’t take extra risks._

Caitlyn then calmed Mal down and read to him until he went to sleep, choosing the Avvar Snow Queen tale. It seemed fitting for a night like tonight. _The newly named Champion of Kirkwall, defeater of the Arishok, now reads to her little child,_ she thought wryly as he nodded off in his bed. She left the book on a shelf beside his bed and turned around.

Anders was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the candlelight of the hallway. Suddenly she remembered that he was angry and frustrated with her earlier that evening. Apparently he still was, she judged from the tense expression on his face.

She closed Mal’s door quietly and turned to him. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected that you would put it out of your mind.”

He raised his eyebrows as they entered their own bedroom, pulling the door behind them. He was the first in, and once they were inside, he turned around, closing in the space around her, so that she was backed against the door while he stood a person’s height away from her, glaring. “Of course not,” he said. “You feel validated now, don’t you, since you walked away with your life, your freedom, _and_ a nice new title?”

Suddenly annoyance filled her. She had just done an incredible thing, and been rewarded grandly for it—and he was _angry?_ She folded her arms across her chest and scowled back. “Maybe I do! But more than that, what would you have done? Someone had to kill him for what he did. Justice must see that, doesn’t he? He agrees?”

“Yes,” Anders said between clenched teeth.

“So why shouldn’t I have been that person?”

“You challenged him yourself!” Anders exploded. “You were spoiling for a fight, even after promising me that you wouldn’t do anything rash! Even after the incident with the rage demon, you still wanted blood. I wouldn’t blame you if _he_ challenged _you,_ or if it became clear that nobody was going to step up... but you were as aggressive as possible! You promised me that you wouldn’t and then two minutes later, you were basically telling him that he was going to die, that you weren’t even going to consider treating with him—before you knew that he was going to demand Isabela, before you knew _anything_ that he would say. You made it clear that you wanted vengeance for Kirkwall.”

“And _you_ have a problem with that? That’s rich!” she barked out in a laugh.

“I could have _lost_ you,” he burst out, his voice suddenly husky, “and permanently this time. Do I mean so little to you when you see a chance to further your ambition?”

So _that_ was it, she realized. He believed that she held certain promises to him in little regard. She stepped forward, closing part of the distance between them. “I had second thoughts about it as soon as I said those words,” she told him. “I wasn’t sure if I had made the right choice....”

“But you are sure now. You feel validated now. I’ll ask again....”

“What do you want me to say? I have a lot of confidence in my abilities. If I didn’t, I _wouldn’t_ risk myself, _because_ of you and Mal. You know how much you mean to me.”

He stepped forward, only a foot and a half away now. “I _know,”_ he said in a growl, “that you drive me half mad with worry sometimes—”

“Do you think you don’t do the same to me?”

“Ask me that again after I challenge a warlord to a duel to the death.”

“You already defeated a Magister Sidereal.” She wondered momentarily if he would challenge her assertion about the Architect or if he had accepted it.

“Not alone, and you weren’t there to _watch it unfold._ But all right—so did you, and I was worried sick the entire time you were gone! And then you came back temporarily paralyzed!” He breached the distance, grabbing her around the waist in a crushing grip. “Several times over the past three years, you barely avoided Meredith’s Templars—”

“She can’t touch me now.”

“She can touch _both of us_ as long as she draws breath,” he growled, holding her even more tightly. “She doesn’t care about laws. She thinks she _is_ the law.”

Her breath hitched in her chest; perhaps it was because her blood was still up, but as she gazed at his furious face and felt the grip of his hands on her waist and hips, she felt desire surging in her.

“But leaving her aside, you have repeatedly come back to me bloodied in fights, burned by dragons—and maybe you have had to do these things, but don’t you know what it _does_ to me?”

She jerked free of him, feeling a tingle from the loss of contact and a sudden, intense need to feel his touch again—just as she intended. “Then do something about it tonight,” she said, stunned at how low and dark her voice sounded. An idea flooded her mind suddenly. “Use the Tevinter rings that Isabela gave us for our wedding.”

Anders’ eyes widened in genuine shock at this suggestion. He drew back slightly, gaping at her, his despairing fury suddenly leaving him. “We... have never used those before,” he said. “Are you sure _tonight,_ like this, is.... I mean, we were going to talk about it before trying that....”

She stepped forward. “Then set your mind at ease. I’m saying it because I want you to shove me on that bed”—her glance darted quickly to their draped bed—“and set us both on fire. ‘Punish’ me that way.” He swallowed hard, but the uncertainty was rapidly leaving his face, replaced by a dark eagerness. “Do it, my love,” she whispered.

That broke his will. He lunged forward, capturing her lips in a hard kiss that was still tinged with anger—and then pulled away just as quickly, turning aside with a gleam in his eye and a corner of his mouth upturned as he headed toward their dresser.

She tried to calm herself and control her breathing as he rummaged through their trinket box. He closed the lid, turning around with one fist clenched—and on the other hand, a second ring, a plain gold one, adorning the finger next to the one that bore his wedding band. He advanced on her, opening his fist as he reached her.

“You’re sure you want this?” he whispered. The ring that he wore was not doing anything to him, he noted—evidently, it did not do anything unless someone was wearing the other one.

She gazed at him. “I said I did.”

A half-moan, half-growl escaped him at that. He lunged for her, taking her into his arms, devouring her lips, leaving a trail down her jawline and marking her neck with bites as he forced the silver band on her left middle finger.

The ring was heated from being in his fist. As the metal passed across her digit, she wondered momentarily if its original purpose was to command a slave, or if these rings had always been intended for intimate play. As soon as it was fully on, however, she suspected she knew the answer—because the effect that it had on her mind was to invoke a new surge of desire and lust for him, not to take away her sense of willpower and control over her own actions, nor to limit her ability to access her magic. _That could still be abused,_ she thought idly as he lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and turned to carry her to bed, _but not now, not with us...._

Anders was on top of her in the next moment, pulling her down the mattress by her legs, which he wrapped around his waist again. She was fully underneath him as he quickly undid the fasteners on his coat and pulled it off along with his tunic in one movement.

“Anders,” she urged as he untied the drawstrings to his trousers. He stopped and gave her a pointed, rakish smile. A hint of ice-blue light flashed behind his eyes.

She had been pinned beneath him, but she had a bit more room to move now that he was removing his pants. She began to pop the buttons on her clothes, revealing her heaving chest, when he tossed his trousers to the floor and turned sharply around to her.

“Stop doing that,” he said.

She was not sure if it was the enchanted rings or if she would have done so anyway, but she stopped unbuttoning her top at once. He hovered over her and placed his hands beside hers, taking the folds of fabric between his fingers and continuing the action himself. _“I_ will do that,” he murmured, unbuttoning her top and pulling it down her arms. As her bosom came into view, he leaned over and placed a kiss between her breasts. She breathed deeply, leaning her head back, her eyes fluttering closed of their own accord as Anders pushed her back onto the pillows. He tugged the drawstring of her pants, untying the bow that held them, and swiftly pulled them down her legs along with her smalls. They had both shed their shoes earlier in the evening upon their return home, and now, both of them fully unclothed, he braced himself on top of her with his elbows and proceeded to share intense, full-mouth kisses with her, his hands running possessively through her long red hair.

Caitlyn thought about that too as his fingers caressed her scalp tenderly. Although she had done so for most of her life until Dragon 9:29, for several years after that, she had not wanted to wear her hair long. It had made her feel vulnerable, both physically and emotionally, since it was a liability in combat and was associated with her memories of the first half of 9:27 and their lost relationship. But she had grown it halfway down her back again since meeting him in Kirkwall. She hadn’t done so specifically to please him; it had just happened as she became more empowered in the city through her own deeds, had regained him, and had become less fearful and defensive in both senses. Long hair was part of who she had been for years, and she had reclaimed that at last. That she knew Anders considered her hair beautiful was a bonus.

“You’re Kirkwall’s Champion,” he murmured against the side of her face between wet, passionate kisses. “Soon to be more than that—also for Kirkwall. But whose are you, really?”

Perhaps it was the rings; perhaps not. She didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yours,” she said, reveling in his growl of approval, the accompanying jolt of lightning on her left side, and the hard kiss on her upper neck that would certainly leave a mark. “I’m yours.”

“Yes, you are.” He continued to kiss her, his heated hands all over her body, pulsing spark after spark of magic into her. She felt her own magic surge within her and channeled it into a burst of heat at her fingertips of both hands, which were firmly gripping his lower shoulder blades. He hissed in surprise at the sensation and responded with a somewhat stronger spark—then, as she gasped from that, lowered his entire body into position.

She expected him to fill her and was more than ready for it, her inner thighs already slick from pooled desire—but he waited for a second, pausing, his gaze suddenly softening as his amber eyes were locked with her green ones. Then he took her left hand and slipped the plain gold band off his hand right before removing the silver one from hers.

Caitlyn felt slightly different then, but it was hard to articulate exactly how so. She didn’t want him any less, nor did she feel that she was suddenly unshackled to do anything that she had been prevented from doing before. Perhaps the magic had actually lessened her own aggression and angry resolve, and the surge of desire she had felt for him when they had put on the rings had followed that like a flood after a broken dam.

“Tell me, do you want this?” he said urgently, letting both rings fall to the mattress beside them. “I don’t want to do it if—”

She embraced him with both arms, silencing him with a kiss. “Yes,” she said quietly, breaking it. “I do. And I did before, Anders. That was real.”

He gasped out and kissed her again in relief as he finally buried himself inside her to the hilt and began to move.

They did not last very long after that, both of them falling into a desperate rhythm of movement punctuated by gasps of breath, exclamations of love and possession, and quick, intense moans. In a few minutes, they were both at their peaks, trembling and quaking in each other’s arms as they spent themselves. He collapsed on her and remained in that position for a while, stroking her sides tenderly as she wrapped her arms around his back.

When they finally recognized that they could not sleep like that, he rolled off her, somewhat regretfully, but she quickly nestled herself under his chin and allowed him to hold her close through the night.

* * *

They did not need to discuss the Arishok’s defeat any further the next morning. He seemed to accept that she was who she was: confrontational, and, in her own way, as driven by justice as he was—and she accepted that she could be more considerate of the fear he experienced every time she endangered herself in that pursuit, even if she knew that she could not stop pursuing it.

They found the discarded rings under one pillow that morning. He scooped them up and chuckled as he put them back in the trinket box. “What were you experiencing when you were wearing it?” he asked her.

“I thought about that—briefly—and I think it sort of pushed away the anger and aggressiveness that I had been feeling for most of yesterday,” she said. “I already wanted you—as you know—but once that anger was gone, that feeling took over. Was that what you wanted?”

He contemplated that. “Not consciously... I wasn’t deliberately thinking to push your aggression away... but yes, I guess it was.” He eyed the box. “So the effect is subtle. They can’t be used to turn one person into a puppet or to create an urge that doesn’t already exist. I guess that’s good?”

“Anders,” she said with a wry smile, taking his hands, “they can be used improperly, even with that effect. You know that. But we won’t do it.” She caressed his cheek gently. “You couldn’t bring yourself to cross that last barrier without knowing for sure, even when we have been married for over two years and partners for longer. That’s why I trust you with this. It’s not because of what the rings’ effect is. It’s because of _you.”_

He finally smiled back as he gave her a hug.

* * *

They knew there was work to be done in the city that day. Leaving Mal behind with Leandra, they headed out to begin the grim accounting. Aveline had called a curfew in Lowtown the night before, and now, the City Guard were helping the residents clean up and tend to the dead. Aveline herself was standing guard in front of the Qunari compound, where, she said, some people _were_ still inside, Qunari who had not joined the attack.

“Saemus Dumar is among them,” she said in a low voice so that no one else could hear and become enraged at this news. “I don’t think he knows that his father is dead.”

Caitlyn scowled. “He converted to the Qun. They don’t have fathers and mothers as we know them. He gave up his family when he made that choice. I would give up every possession I own to have  _my_ father back, and there was a time only three years ago when I thought Mal would never know his and would have done the same for him. My sympathy is all for old Dumar himself for not getting to speak to his son one last time.”

Aveline raised her eyebrows in surprise at her friend’s coldness, but she did not dispute it. “The soldiers who survived have been captured,” she said, “and are being held in jail.”

Caitlyn wondered for a moment what would be the best thing to do about that. With the Arishok’s death, who was now the leader of this contingent of Qunari? Would they accept being ordered to return home without the Tome of Koslun?  _And that reminds me, I have to make sure Isabela hasn’t done a runner,_ she thought.  _She is going to donate her proceedings to Kirkwall. I will insist upon it, especially after what I saw this morning._ The sobs of new, too-young widows, of children who had lost a parent or a sibling, filled the quarter. Dried blood marred the alleys of Lowtown, and numerous buildings had been burned out and blasted with explosive barrels of the Qunari blackpowder. There was even one side alley where the residents swore that the Qunari had set off a barrel of the same madness-inducing poison gas that the rogue elf had made weeks ago.

The Hanged Man had been among the structures that had suffered damage, but it had not been burned or blasted out, and no one had died inside. Varric was staring at the stairs at Caitlyn and Anders entered. “She’s up there,” he said. “But don’t you worry, I’m not going to let her go anywhere until she has put the coin into your hands.”

“You don’t trust her not to flee either, then,” Caitlyn stated.

“You weren’t the only one she lied to. And sure, maybe I am the last one who should talk about lying, but there is a difference between what I do and what she did.” He sighed. “Fenris has also said that he’s thinking about leaving—I hope not permanently. He said he always respected the Qunari because of what happened in his past, the kindness they showed him—and he feels guilt about what he did in return—so I think this has hit him hard, seeing them like this. I guess it’s one thing to hear of them killing Tevinters, the people who enslaved and abused him, and another to _watch_ as they kill Kirkwall civilians just because their leader ordered it.”

“And to realize that the Qun demands absolute obedience, just as a slave master does,” Anders put in.

Caitlyn felt a pang of regret. She would miss them, she realized, but she did understand it in Fenris’s case. It would be like—she realized—seeing an army of mages committing atrocities. This would have been a shock to him that cut deeply. “I hope they go together, if they do go,” she said feelingly. “Please encourage that, if you can.”

Varric nodded. “Will do, Hawke.”

* * *

The next place they needed to visit was the Chantry. Petrice was presiding, actually interacting with the people who came by for prayer and comfort—though she did direct other priests, brothers, and sisters to supply comfort, apparently recognizing her own limitations. There were numerous people—not all of them human, Caitlyn noticed with surprise—who were sheltering in the structure, their homes apparently too damaged for them to remain.

Petrice nodded in acknowledgment as Caitlyn and Anders approached her. “Good morning,” she said. “It is truly a day that the Maker has made. They are defeated.”

_I don’t want to hear this right now,_ Caitlyn thought. She nodded curtly and got to business. “Grand Cleric,” she said, emphasizing the title purposefully, “I wanted to talk with you about what happened last night in the Keep. Thank you so much, first of all, for declaring me... for protecting me from Meredith.”

Anders placed an arm around her waist.

Petrice managed a brief smile. “I wasn’t about to lose you to her. Kirkwall needs a Viscountess now, not a usurper.”

_In other words, you still need me to protect your own position from her,_ she thought, completing the unfinished statement in her mind.  _I appreciate your honesty about why you did it, at least._ “I know what she is going to do, as you warned me. She will appeal her dismissal to Val Royeaux. But... unless and until they rescind it, it  _will_ be in effect, and I have to say, I think this is the right time to make those changes to the Kirkwall Circle. And not just because of what I did. We took out three Qunari Saarebas who would have done untold damage. We broke into the Keep because of magic. We weren’t getting in without it. Now is the hour—and it will be easier to actually implement those reforms if Meredith is not the acting Knight-Commander.”

“Cullen Rutherford is no friend to mages,” Anders interjected. “In the Circle of Ferelden, he was terrified of magic....”

“But as _Acting_ Knight-Commander, not an official appointment, he won’t feel fully empowered, I don’t think,” Caitlyn said. “And the other Templars won’t feel as compelled to obey his whims, whereas she is the official Grand Cleric, confirmed by Divine Justinia. This is the moment, Anders.”

He nodded. “I agree. I’m just saying, if the Orlesians  _do_ approve Meredith’s dismissal, I don’t know how much of an improvement he would be.”

“Any improvement at all would be something. He stood by and watched as I fought the Arishok with magic, Anders. He was uncomfortable, but he was not the one who exploded in paranoid fury. Meredith was.”

Petrice broke in. “I will order her dismissal at once. She insulted and accused me too, if you recall. I would do it even if she had not threatened you. But... do not get your hopes up, Warden. There are many in the Chantry who think mages are the true threat to the faith, even if they know the Maker, rather than the barbaric atrocities we witnessed yesterday, and some of these people are highly placed.”

As they turned aside, Anders muttered something under his breath to the effect that “threats to the faith” were not his problem or his priority, but fortunately Petrice did not hear this.  _She will be out of power for a critical period, but she will appeal, and her appeal might succeed. She has allies. Someone nominated her to be Divine. We have a long fight ahead,_ Caitlyn thought as they left the Chantry.

* * *

“You usurping, conniving, mage-sympathizing heretic! This will not stand! By Andraste and the Maker, it _will not stand!”_

“You do not speak for Andraste or the Maker. Take it up with the Knight-Vigilant! You’re lucky I am just dismissing you and not ordering your arrest for treason!”

Meredith Stannard clenched her fists. The two women, she and Petrice, did not seem to care about the show that they were putting on for everyone at the Gallows to see. “Yes, that is what you do to your enemies, is it not? You accuse them of treason. You and the smirking apostates who installed you!”

“Divine Justinia, successor to the Sunburst Throne and voice of Our Lady Andraste, installed me. You are _dismissed_ as Knight-Commander of Kirkwall for your baseless assertions that Champion Hawke and I engineered the mass slaughter of innocent people. As I said, take it to the Knight-Vigilant!”

“I will do that,” she bit off. “I know Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch and I certainly will take it to him! You are compromised; you have an alliance with this family of apostates. I saved the city from the privations and abuses of Viscount Threnhold. Kirkwall”—she gestured toward the gathered crowd, clearly seeing the wisdom in a populist appeal such as Petrice herself had ridden to power—“you remember, don’t you? Those of you who are old enough still remember what I did for the city. This woman has been Grand Cleric for not even a week, but she sees fit to dismiss me—she, an Orlesian in a questionable alliance with two Fereldans! Their child has only a quarter Kirkwaller blood! Remember _that_ before you act rashly to bestow further honors on this defiant apostate! Yes, I shall appeal, and the _true_ faithful will defend me!” Her eyes practically popping out of her head, the red blood vessels almost glowing in their prominent visibility, she stormed from the steps where the statues of agonized slaves stood.

“She condemns me for being Orlesian by birth,” Petrice intoned, “but she says she will appeal to another Orlesian. I ask you, _who_ defended Kirkwall in our hour of need?”

Caitlyn and Anders were among the many people who were gathered for this spectacle. She found it hard to keep a grin off her face as the furious woman descended, so instead she focused on Knight-Captain... no, Acting Knight-Commander Cullen, who looked like a deer caught in front of a carriage the moment she announced his position.

* * *

Mal was eager to see his parents again by the time they returned home. “I read about a new spell and I think I can do it!” he exclaimed to them.

“What spell?” Caitlyn asked, interested.

“This one!” The boy raised his short little staff and opened his free hand wide. It was a dramatic stance, and it was both amusing and endearing to her. Beside her, Anders also suppressed a laugh. But when a shining greenish-white ball of light appeared out of the Fade, glowing beside his staff, their laughter ceased.

“Mal!” Caitlyn exclaimed, stunned. “You can summon a spell wisp?” Anders was gazing at his son in astonishment.

He shrugged, unable to hide his pride that he had impressed both of them. “I read about it and wanted to do it. It means more magic while it lasts... oops.” At these words, the wisp vanished. He looked up sheepishly. “I can’t make it stay long enough to use it for anything else.” A tired yawn escaped his mouth. “And it makes me tired.”

She got on her knees beside him, followed by Anders in the next moment. “Mal,” she said seriously, “I never thought I’d say this... but let’s develop your other magic more before you do this one too much. It won’t tire you as much when you are older and have more magical power. At your age, it’s probably taking all of your mana to do it.” His face fell, and she said hurriedly, “I’m still extremely proud of you for being able to do it! It’s just maybe _too_ big a spell for you right now, which is why it tires you and why you can’t keep it up for long. Once you have more magical power—which will come with time and practice of your other spells—then you will be able to do this one _and_ keep it up so that it can actually be useful to you.”

He still looked disappointed, but he could not argue with the fact that he was unable to cast anything else while the wisp was present, so he nodded.

* * *

That night, Anders was waiting for Caitlyn to show up in their bedroom. He wondered where she was. She had already bathed, but she had returned to the main part of the house instead of staying in their bedroom.

He was on the verge of getting up to look for her when she entered the room, a parcel of books in her arms from the Amell-Hawke library. He squinted to read the titles on the spines. She set the books down on her bedside table and climbed under the covers beside him, and it was then that he got a good look.

“Force magic?” he said.

She gazed sheepishly at him. “I’m giving up blood magic, but it now feels like something is missing—a weapon that I am denying myself. So I decided to fill the gap with something new. Seeing Mal cast that wisp today made me decide. He’s _so_ talented, even when he bites off more than he can chew....”

Anders chuckled wryly. “I think every mage does  _that_ at some point. It’s a learning experience.”

She smiled back. “Well, the time may come when he will want to do things that neither of us actually knows how to do. You can handle all things healing, creation school, and spirit school; I can teach him elementalism and entropy... but what if he wants to do  _this_ someday? Bethany was learning it... which, I guess, is why I didn’t try to learn it myself after we got this house,” she said with a sigh. “I should have, instead of teaching myself blood magic... but I suppose my point is, now, between this sense of vulnerability I’m feeling about refusing myself blood magic, and the awareness of how talented he is, I think it’s time for  _me_ to learn something new too. And why not something that would honor my sister, rather than something that exposes me to rage demons and almost kills my friends?”

Anders leaned over and took her in his arms, hugging her tightly. “I can’t wait to see you do it.”

* * *

A messenger from the Chantry arrived early the next morning, after Anders and Mal went to the clinic, but he had a message for Caitlyn. “Her Grace wishes to see you at the Gallows,” he said.

“At the Gallows?” Caitlyn was startled, and that location seemed ominous. Did this concern the Circle?

“It’s about the Qunari.”

Considering that this was Petrice, _that_ information somehow felt even more ominous to Caitlyn, but she wasted no time in getting ready. She picked up her most powerful staff, feeling rather smug about the fact that she could carry it openly now even in the heart of Templar power in the city. And—she had to admit it to herself—it was a safety net, at least in her mind.

When she arrived at the Gallows, she quickly found the high priest standing in front of the tall stone wall between two of the slave statues. Aveline was standing beside her, the Guard-Captain’s face hard and set. Guards armed with crossbows were assembling their weapons. At this sight, Caitlyn suddenly realized what Petrice intended to do with the Qunari, and she felt queasy.

“Your Grace,” she said, facing the priest as bravely as she could, “what is this about?” She was sure she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it.

Petrice gazed shrewdly at her. “You know what this is about,” she said. “The ones who did not die in battle will face justice for their crimes.”

Caitlyn tried to see it rationally and not think about the fact that this was yet more blood that would be spilled. _They are killers,_ she told herself. _They committed murder and raised arms against the city._ “How many?” she asked.

“The guards captured some three dozen in Lowtown,” Aveline said.

_Three dozen more lives,_ thought Caitlyn. “I... is this really the best thing?” she pleaded. “Couldn’t they just be imprisoned?”

Petrice replied instead of Aveline. “I understand that you undoubtedly do not want to see any more blood, Hawke, but the people of Lowtown demand this. Think of how you would feel if they had slain someone dear to you.”

She closed her eyes momentarily. If the Qunari had killed one of her friends, her mother, or—Maker forbid—Anders or Mal, then... yes. She would want this. They  _hadn’t_ done that, but she had still wanted the Arishok’s life for what he had ordered done to the people of Kirkwall. What right had she to judge others’ desire for vengeance, after what she herself had felt? She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. “You have a point. If it will help them heal to see justice done.... What do you need me here for? Did you just want me to know about it before it happens?”

“That, and also, since we have no Viscount, you are the closest person to a secular political leader that we currently have,” said Petrice. “It needs to be known that this is occurring with your consent. Acting Knight-Commander Cullen has given his signature.”

That felt like a gut punch to her. It was bad enough to know that her ally and her friend were overseeing a mass execution of unarmed prisoners, even if they _were_ murderers. It was even worse to know that _she_ was expected to sign off on this officially.

“And you will need to be present for it as well,” Petrice added. “The Guard-Captain has identified all the people who lost a family member, at least all who have come forward. They are going to be invited to the front of the crowd to watch. Your heroism in taking on and defeating the Arishok is known throughout the city now, Hawke. They need to see you.” She considered for a moment before adding, “And I realize that your son is very young, but if either your mother or your husband could also attend, that would also be a good idea.”

She sighed heavily. Her mother wouldn’t want to witness this. Anders... she was not sure. He might not either, but on the other hand, Justice might—and increasingly, Anders was taking a hard line on matters of justice. _If he comes, I can lean on him,_ she thought.

“Anders might come,” she finally said. “My mother is a gentle lady and won’t have the stomach for it, but he fought, so he might be here.”

“Oh,” Petrice said as something new occurred to her, “the roughly three dozen figure does not include those who remain in the compound.”

A cold chill shot down Caitlyn’s spine. As she looked sharply at the priest, she realized that this was news to Aveline as well—and news that the Captain did not particularly like. “They didn’t fight,” she said, an edge to her voice. “They did not take up arms against the city or slay anyone.”

Petrice shook her head. “They are Qunari. They are heretics who conspired with those who did take up arms against the city.”

“Grand Cleric,” she said coolly, “the ones who will be put to death... what is their crime? What are they being executed for, murder and treason, or heresy? Heresy is not a capital offense here anyway. This isn’t Tantervale.”

Petrice narrowed her gaze at Caitlyn. “Point taken,” she said, “but what would you do? Let them go? They have lived in the city for three years. They know a lot about Kirkwall—and the late Viscount’s son is among them. Do you intend to turn _him_ loose among the Qunari?”

“He is a youth,” she said. “I will not condone the execution of a boy barely out of childhood who didn’t kill or take up arms against anyone. I won’t do it.”

“Then what do you think should be done with him? Your choices are to let him go with the Qunari, someone with intimate knowledge of the Viscount’s Keep... to take him away from them and give him to someone else, who might position him as a pretender to challenge _you_ later... or to end both threats now.”

Caitlyn felt sick. Petrice’s logic was cold-blooded and ruthless, but she could not find true fault with it. However, her moral center revolted against the idea of killing Saemus Dumar and the other Qunari who had not taken part in the attack.

“The rightful ruler of Kirkwall is the one who is chosen by majority vote in an official moot of the titled lords and ladies of the city when the position becomes vacant,” she said carefully. “If the child of a previous ruler is passed over, that’s the end of it for as long as the new ruler lives. No family has held the seat for two successive generations in a while, in fact, but the nobles have accepted the rule of the one sitting on the seat—or discussed ways of removing him _lawfully.”_

“So you are actually intending to....”

She took a breath and squared her shoulders. “I will give my consent to doing justice upon the Qunari who participated in the attack. I will _not_ approve killing the ones who didn’t. They go home—in the dead of night, secretly, if there is too much bloodlust among Kirkwall’s people right now to do it openly.”

Petrice sputtered in amazement. “Saemus Dumar lived in the Keep! He knows its secrets, and you are sending him back to the two remaining Qunari heads of state after you personally killed the third?”

Caitlyn realized Petrice’s unsaid concern: war. “The Keep can be changed. We can add new protections, _especially_ a pair of mages. Anyway, Saemus was a little idiot who liked to mingle with the Qunari, not spend time in the Keep. I doubt he knows much. And sending back the noncombatants might _forestall_ the full-scale war you are afraid of. Besides, they’re still in a war with Tevinter. They can’t pull back from that to launch a major offensive against us.”

“It wouldn’t require a major offensive! This was a small force, but you saw what they did to Lowtown!”

“The Arishok himself accepted my challenge. He wouldn’t have done that if the Qun didn’t permit it. I think they will honor the outcome of that duel... _if_ we act justly with the prisoners who didn’t take part in the attack.”

Petrice heaved her breath in exasperation. “Hawke... I see that you are not going to budge on this, but I hope that you realize soon that you cannot be this softhearted with everyone.”

“You think _I_ am softhearted?” she said.

A narrow smile formed on the priest’s face. “Fair enough. It will be as you say... this time. But you do need to think about what I said.”

* * *

Anders was conflicted. He was visibly troubled by the idea of a mass execution, but another part of him seemed inclined to justify it— _the Justice-Vengeance part?_ Caitlyn wondered.

“I will go with you to support you,” he finally said. “I don’t know exactly what I think of this... but even if I were absolutely set against it, it’s my duty to be there for you so that you don’t have to be alone, watching that bloodthirsty crowd cheering as the arrows fly.”

She leaned against him. “I don’t know what I think of it either,” she said. “I gave my consent because I see the justice of it... but  _is_ it justice? We could just imprison them. Merely thirty-odd prisoners, what difference does it make? This seems like vengeance to me.” She gave him a dark smile. “What’s your expert opinion?”

He held her tightly with one arm. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m coming to think that the two ideas are one and the same—that we consider it justice when we do it and vengeance when someone else does it against us, and that’s the only ‘difference.’”

That seemed dark to Caitlyn, but at this moment, she could not argue with that either.

“So... I may not like the act any more than you do... but when I think of what they would have done to you, or to Mal....” He trailed off darkly. “I’d do it to them myself, with my own hand, if that had happened.”

“I had the same thought,” she said quietly.

* * *

_That evening at sundown._

The bereaved families were lined up in front of a shouting crowd, holding each other and gazing fiercely at the assembled prisoners. The Qunari stood silently, stoically, awaiting their fate as the archers of the Kirkwall Guard lined up and pointed their crossbows at them.

Caitlyn turned aside, focusing on Anders instead of the unfolding execution. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist.  _Thirty-odd more lives,_ she thought again.  _The diadem of Kirkwall already drips with blood. Will there be more to come? And when I approved this, was it truly because I saw the justice of it, or was it because I was afraid of going against that angry crowd and losing the city’s support?_

Several of the crowd jeered and raised their lit torches as the sun set, casting a pall of shadow on the city. Beside Caitlyn and Anders stood Petrice, Cullen, and Aveline. Aveline turned to the archers and gave the order.

Caitlyn closed her eyes as the crossbow mechanisms clicked and the bolts struck flesh.

* * *

A gap opened up between Caitlyn and the priest after that. Petrice was not present when Caitlyn, Anders, and Aveline arranged for the secret release of the noncombatant Qunari into a small ship. She did not send messengers to the Hawke house over the next few days, even after Isabela deposited several sacks of gold into the Kirkwall treasury and vanished that night with Fenris. As the date of the scheduled party at Chateau Haine approached, Caitlyn realized that something needed to be done, because they did not need to become foes.

_I wasn’t wrong about showing mercy to the ones who didn’t do anything,_ she thought resolutely,  _but this isn’t good. What should I do, though? She already thinks I was “softhearted.” If I make concessions to her now...._

The answer came unexpectedly one morning several days after the violent events. A messenger at last came to the house, bearing the message that Caitlyn, Anders,  _and_ Mal might want to be present for a presentation at the Gallows.

“Is she going to announce Circle changes, I wonder?” Anders mused as he got Mal ready.

“You know, I think she might,” Caitlyn said. A smile formed on her face. “Maybe she actually realizes that she needs to seal the breach herself.”

“She promised us,” he pointed out. “She is just delivering on what she said she would do... if that’s what this is.”

When they reached the Gallows, it became clear at once that this was indeed what was going on. Ser Cullen and Ser Agatha stood beside First Enchanter Orsino, who looked pleased, and to the other side, in a crowd of Templars and mages who had gathered, Ser Thrask gave the family a smile of recognition.

“Many people of this city witnessed mages using their magic to serve man and defend their Maker the night that the Qunari attacked,” Petrice intoned. “The titled folk witnessed, and by now everyone has heard, how Champion Hawke revealed herself as a mage, risking her life to defeat the Qunari Arishok and free the city of his grip. These actions merit reward, and the acknowledgment that of all the threats to Kirkwall, well-trained mages with proper moral foundations are not one of those threats.”

Scattered applause filled the air from the assembled people. The crowd that had gathered for this announcement was not as large as the one that had come for the mass execution, Caitlyn noted somberly and cynically.

“The first institution of the Maker is the family, and it is wrong to tear that institution down without just cause. Henceforth, in Kirkwall, mages of the Circle will be permitted visitors, letters, and scheduled visits outside the Circle quarters with their family and friends.”

_It’s a start,_ thought Caitlyn as she glanced at Anders and Mal.  _They should be able to live family lives like we have, but this is a beginning. Next we need to get the policy of separating siblings into different Circles changed...._

“In addition, it is wrong that those accused of the vilest of crimes have the right to a trial, but mages accused of _anything_ do not. This too will now be different: They will be tried before a panel of unbiased priests, not subjected to summary execution behind locked doors at the whim of one person.”

Anders smiled, though Caitlyn knew he wanted more.

“The so-called Rite of Tranquility will no longer be practiced in the Kirkwall Circle from this day forward. Mages who pose risks to others will be confined by wards and other means, and those who are convicted of capital crimes shall suffer the same penalty as a non-mage in that situation. They too will have the opportunity to seek absolution with their Maker before they go to Him, if they so choose, and will not have that denied by men.”

Caitlyn and Anders actually burst into applause at this announcement. This was the clearest, most unambiguous victory so far—a blanket, unconditional ban, not a halfway measure.

“And finally... the change that is likely to affect the general population the most, and the reason why I made these announcements publicly. As you may have witnessed during the Qunari attack, mages fighting in combat made a significant difference. They burst into the Keep, enabling our forces to save those who could still be saved and empowering your Champion to challenge and defeat the Arishok. You have also, perhaps, known of the good that Warden Anders has done as a Healer. Circle mages who have passed their Harrowings will now have the opportunity to offer free healing inside the Chantry, or to aid the City Guard as auxiliaries if that is where their talents lie. You will have nothing to fear from those who fight beside your guards, people of Kirkwall. The requirements will be just as stringent for mage auxiliaries as they are for official guardsmen and women.”

“That’s less confidence-inspiring than it should be,” Caitlyn muttered wryly to Anders.

He laughed darkly. “I’m going to wager that the mages who do that will acquit themselves much better than the assorted corrupt guards and rapists who slithered in.”

“I’m sure you’re right!”

Mal looked up at his parents. “This is just a start, isn’t it?” He was worried. “There will be more, won’t there?”

She smiled and gave him a squeeze. “Oh, yes, there will be much more. But sometimes people have to start with small changes and work their way up to bigger ones.”

Anders broke his gaze with hers and stared ahead into the distance. Caitlyn knew that he disagreed philosophically with that; his view was that it was better to ask for everything at once than to be satisfied with incrementalism. He had a point... but the fact was, she  _wasn’t_ satisfied with what Petrice had announced today.  _He knows that,_ she thought.  _He knows that I won’t settle for this._

She met the priest’s gaze and gave her a smile and a brief nod, hoping to send the message that they were on the same team again. She knew very well that she and Anders cared about mages a lot more than Petrice did, and Anders was right that this was just the priest upholding her end of an existing bargain. Petrice had gotten what she wanted—the Qunari gone and herself as Grand Cleric—and now it was time for her to give her allies what they wanted, but at the same time, it did feel to Caitlyn like an olive branch.

* * *

In retrospect, Caitlyn supposed she should have known that the period of peace would not last. The very day after Petrice announced her Circle reforms, the day before she and her family planned to make the trip to Chateau Haine, a piece of very unwelcome news reached Kirkwall.

Caitlyn stormed into the house furiously after learning what had happened. “The Orlesians reinstated her!” she burst out. “The Knight-Vigilant, one Knight-Divine, and even the Lady Seeker agreed with her and overruled Petrice’s order! They claimed that she had a ‘lengthy and honorable history serving Kirkwall’ and that a new Grand Cleric should not discount that.”

Baldwin rose to his feet and barked in disapproval of whatever had so upset his mistress. Leandra, Anders, and Mal all looked up at her, as did the cat.

“I wish I could say that surprised me,” Anders said. He held out an unopened letter. “Here—this came for you while you were out. I didn’t read it. I wondered what it could mean, but I suspect, now, that it’s about this....”

Cooling off slightly, she accepted the note. It bore the seal of the sunburst Chantry symbol and was from “Sister Nightingale.” “This is most likely an explanation of why Divine Justinia didn’t overrule _them,”_ she said with a dark glower as she popped the seal and flounced into a chair to read it. “This had better be good. I’d like to know that myself! I thought she was with us!”

Anders shook his head dourly, clearly unsurprised by any perfidy from a Chantry source. Caitlyn began to read the letter from Leliana.

 

_Caitlyn and Warden Anders,_

_By now you have likely heard, or soon will hear, the news from Val Royeaux. The Knight-Vigilant, Lady Seeker, and other highly placed Templars supported Meredith Stannard’s appeal and voided the new Grand Cleric’s dismissal order._

_I am sure you are wondering why Justinia didn’t uphold it. Please, I beg of you, do not lose faith. She disapproved of the Templars’ and Seeker’s decision, but she is still trying to work out how deep in Templar and Seeker ranks the rebellion against reform goes before taking a provocative action. Despite their support of Meredith, Justinia is not even certain if any of these are part of the covert rebellion or if they are merely acting out of their own sincere, if misguided, convictions. You must understand that Meredith apparently has great respect from within the Templar hierarchy, whereas Petrice is a comparatively new priest, let alone Grand Cleric. It is possible that any or all of these people are plotting against Justinia and other reform supporters, but she does not know for certain._

_A harsh measure could endanger the Divine’s life—and given how many opponents of reform hold high positions in the Chantry, this is a risk that she does not want to take. If she were to die prematurely, all hope of reform might end for the rest of this age. This is why she permitted the overturning to stand. She thinks that for the time being, until we can determine the extent of the defiance and neutralize it, it is better for you and your allies to diminish Meredith’s authority in other ways. The Grand Cleric has the authority to decree changes herself, whether the Knight-Commander approves or no._

_I will keep in contact with you about all pertinent developments. Maker preserve you._

_Leliana_

 

Caitlyn heaved a sigh, deflated, as she passed the note to Anders. She rubbed her eyes.  _What can I say against that?_ she thought.  _That makes perfect sense. I would rather deal with Meredith this way than lose Justinia._

Anders sighed as well, setting the note on the nearest side table. He was seated beside Mal, whom he pulled close in a hug.

“Is it all right?” the boy asked, looking up at his father. “They’re not... coming for me, are they?”

Caitlyn cried out.  _He is still too young to think of that! All right... he’s not... although his memories of not having his father are vague now, he knows, now, why Anders was taken from him before he was born. He knows. And he knows it could be him now. But he’s too young! He shouldn’t have to think about that—_

Anders was speaking hurriedly in reply. “No,” he said emphatically. “They are not. Your secret is still a secret, and by the time it isn’t anymore, your mother and I will have made certain that no one can _ever_ take mage children from their parents!”

Caitlyn was already on her feet, hurrying to his side. She got on her knees before Mal. “I promise you,” she said seriously, “that will never, ever happen to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the mass execution. One, I expect I’m softer toward Petrice than probably 95% of Dragon Age fandom, but I try not to forget what she is. And two, I don’t go for stories in which nothing dark or bad happens because of the sheer awesomeness of the infinitely wise and foreseeing protagonist. You know the sort, the ones who set everyone right with no unexpected (or, in this case, 100% predictable) consequences and experience no resistance that requires them to do things that challenge their morals and ethics. This AU is pretty clearly a fix-it, but it is _not_ that sort of fix-it, because Caitlyn and Anders are not that sort of character.


	11. Rise Up and Take the Power Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, when I said Caitlyn was somewhat like Daenerys Targaryen, good and bad, a few chapters back, um, well. She won't burn Kirkwall to the ground. That I promise. But the inner power struggle is definitely there, and it’s not going to get any easier for her. The question I hope to explore in this story (without answering it definitively) is whether what she and Anders do—not just one thing, but everything they will do—is truly necessary and justified, and if there's ever a time when you have to "break the rules" of traditional politics.
> 
> This is the point at which this story turns very sharply AU in terms of plot, and in a big way, not just around the fringes. I hope that means that it will become more interesting than it apparently has been for several chapters!
> 
> Song: “Uprising” by Muse.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, boarding the carriage with her mother, Mal, and Anders, _“that_ was an experience. It was nice to see Leliana again, however briefly. I hope you feel better about Divine Justinia now, Anders.”

He nodded. They had managed to snag a brief conversation with Leliana, who was at the Montfont hunting party for some reason related to her duties as the Left Hand of the Divine, and sincerity had been present in the former bard’s eyes as she reassured them that Justinia was on their side. Leliana had not been able to stay long, but Caitlyn and Anders were glad to have seen her—and she was very happy to have seen Mal again, after so many years.

_“He has grown so much!” she exclaimed, admiring the little mage. “He looks so much like both of you!”_

_Mal looked up at her thoughtfully. “I have met you before,” he said. “Before Kirkwall. You knew my Aunt Bethany, didn’t you?”_

_That nearly brought everyone present to tears. To Caitlyn, these memories were still clear, if mercifully no longer raw, but occasionally she forgot that her son’s memories of that trauma—and even, a year later, of meeting his father for the first time—were hazy due to his age when these things had happened. She wished that he remembered Bethany better, but in a way, she supposed she was grateful that he would not suffer from the pain as much as she did._

_“Yes,” Leliana assured Mal. “I knew her.” She smiled sadly. “I am so glad that you remember her.”_

Caitlyn forced her thoughts to return to the present. “And the duke had a pet wyvern! I still can’t believe it.”

Anders threw an arm around her waist and smiled. “I’m still reliving the moment that an Orlesian duke greeted me by name, respectfully. And imagining the looks on the faces of Irving and Greagoir.”

“Get used to it, love,” she said with a wry grin. “You’re about to be in a position where _heads of state_ across Thedas treat you with respect, as the consort to a fellow head of state.”

“It does seem that you have your support sewn up,” Leandra agreed. “The donation pool for Kirkwall was impressive, and everyone will know who obtained it. The de Launcets and Ser Marlein will make sure of that.”

 _“I_ will make sure of that,” Caitlyn said emphatically. “I’m not going to be shy about my accomplishments.”

Anders glanced back at the box that contained the stuffed alpha wyvern carcass that she had successfully hunted, the first kill of the hunt. That too had made an impression on the nobles, even though he had not wanted her to leave the safety of the fountains and outdoor feast to go on the hunt.

“I’m also going to make sure that the coin goes to those who need it, not to the rich. I am doing this for mages, yes... that was the genesis of the ambition... but I also want to fix things that are wrong in Kirkwall generally.”

“You will meet with resistance,” he said quietly.

“I know how to deal with resistance.” Her gaze hardened. “I’ve ‘met with resistance’ for three years.”

Anders drew back and looked askance at her. _That is dark,_ he thought. _Violence should be what we do if we have no other choice!_

She realized what he was thinking and said hurriedly, “I didn’t mean that the way it came out! I haven’t _only_ done battle against people to get my way, you know. I can do politics too. Violent justice will be necessary sometimes, unfortunately, but only as a last resort.”

He smiled again, reassured. “Yes, it’s necessary sometimes. I hope it’s not necessary very often.” The smile faded. “But so long as we are dealing with Meredith and her ilk, it probably will be. I still want to know who conspired with Elthina to betray Dumar in the thwarted Qunari plot, and who made Karl Tranquil.” The smile left his face entirely. “Oh yes, there will be times when it’s necessary,” he muttered in an undertone that only she could hear.

“Anything for our family and the cause,” she replied, her voice equally low.

* * *

_Several days later._

The carriage rolled up to the gates of Kirkwall, and the occupants instantly realized that something was wrong as they dismounted and stepped out to have a look. Although it was the middle of the day, the streets of Hightown were almost deserted, and guards were stationed at almost every corner, glaring at anyone who ventured out.

“I don’t like this,” Caitlyn murmured. She took Mal’s hand and glanced uneasily at Anders and her mother.

“We didn’t receive any messages at the chateau,” he pointed out. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that urgent.”

She did not have to wait long to find out, because as soon as Leandra and Mal were inside the house, Varric, Aveline, and—to their great surprise—Merrill walked up to assist with their belongings. Their faces were grim.

“This is it?” Varric said, taking out the stuffed wyvern. “You wanted to keep this, Hawke? I’m surprised.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “It seemed offensive to tell the Duke I didn’t really care to bring it home as a trophy. He was a pompous buffoon, just as I expected, but I saw no reason to deliberately cause offense. I’ll donate it to the Keep.”

“That’s not really a donation... or it soon won’t be,” he said with a grin. “All right.” They finished unloading the Hawkes’ few chests. “You need to know some things first.”

“I’ve gathered that something has happened,” she said.

“It’s not one specific thing, exactly. Ever since the Qunari have been gone, people... well, it might have been the new Circle reforms, or just the new Grand Cleric’s presence itself, but the streets aren’t safe anymore.”

“When have the streets ever been safe?” she chuckled.

“No, this is different from the usual gang shit,” he said. “There have been fights breaking out everywhere. Fights about religion.”

Caitlyn glanced down the strangely empty Hightown street, then back to her circle of friends and family. “People supporting us against people supporting Meredith, I take it?” Beside her, Anders drew his breath sharply in ire.

Varric nodded. “Each calling the other heretical and wicked. It’s no longer safe for Daisy here to be in the alienage. While she was having a drink with us at the Hanged Man, three Templars, including that one named Alrik that Thrask told you about, visited her house, hoping to arrest her.”

“Maker’s flaming breath!” she exclaimed, pulling Merrill into a tight hug and quickly releasing her. “I know you could have defended yourself, but it was still lucky that you didn’t have to!”

“I am staying at the Hanged Man now,” she said. “I have a room next to Varric’s. He helped move most of my things into it... not the eluvian... but I am not sure if I want to... after Feynriel and the demon in the Fade, and what happened during the Qunari attack....” She trailed off.

Caitlyn understood what she was trying to say, and once again she felt a surge of guilt at having accidentally injured Merrill so badly with blood magic. She closed her eyes briefly and sighed. _If what comes of it is that we both give it up, maybe I’ll feel better about the “accident” someday,_ she thought.

“They’re acting lawlessly, Hawke, defying Petrice in every way that they still can. I’ve heard that just in this past week, since she ordered the reforms, the ones who are close to Meredith have been exceptionally brutal in their arrests of apostates and have even been cruel with children.”

Anders tensed, clenching his staff. For a moment, a flash of blue light gleamed behind his eyes. Caitlyn noticed this and took his hand with hers, rubbing his palm to try to calm him. He gave her a grateful look.

“The bigger problem,” Aveline put in, “is the present lack of a Viscount or Viscountess. It has led to a power struggle between the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric, and these people who fight in the streets, in my opinion, are being egged on—by both of them.”

Caitlyn glowered. “We have plans to hold a moot less than a week from now. There will be a Viscountess after that.”

“You’re very confident,” Aveline said, eyes wide. “I’m telling you, Hawke, there is opposition now. Meredith isn’t quite as stupid as you and Anders want to believe she is.”

“Excuse me,” Anders interjected hotly, objecting.

Aveline gazed narrowly at him. “She’s a fanatic, but she’s not stupid. They are not the same, Anders. You of all people ought to know that—”

“Aveline,” Caitlyn said in warning, placing a hand on Anders’ shoulder as he snarled in anger, “you’re taking out your irritation on him. Cut it out. We have been away. We haven’t caused what’s happening here.”

Aveline paused, then heaved a sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry. What I mean to say is, Meredith is aware of what your next move is going to be, and she has stirred up her supporters and given harsh orders to her favorite Templars as a last-ditch attempt to stop it.”

Caitlyn thought for a moment. “Are any of these supporters nobles? Whether we like it or not, they’re the only ones whose opinions count at a moot,” she added cynically.

Aveline raised her eyebrows at that. “I have not heard of any, no. For whatever reason, a surprisingly high number of Kirkwall nobles have mages in their families and support your ideas.”

“That’s of a piece with what I have observed. It’s just ignorant rabble, then, stuck on the idea of Meredith Stannard as Kirkwall’s great hero who saved them from the greed and malice of Threnhold. Well, if it’s a hero they want, there are new ones in town now who saved them from being killed or forced to convert to the Qun.” She gazed around at her friends, making sure they all understood that she meant to include them as heroes.

“She has continued to say that you and Petrice—and you as well, Anders, I might as well tell you—provoked the Qunari to attack. Since the Knight-Vigilant backed her, she apparently feels empowered to say it without fear of consequence. Her supporters believe it, and as you know better than any of us, Hawke, a lot of these ‘nobles’ are weak and cowardly. If they thought that they would meet with popular revolt if they made you Viscountess, they might not do it, regardless of what they believe.”

“I see,” Caitlyn said. She supposed she was not entirely surprised by that, but it was still frustrating. “Nevertheless, this seems like a situation for the law, rather than for political countermoves.” She glanced down the street at the guards stationed at each corner. “I guess you beat me to it.”

Aveline finally cracked a smile.

* * *

Later that day, she wanted to go out and see things for herself, as well as checking on the situation of Lowtown after the cleanup from the Qunari attack had begun. It was best to be seen by the people of Kirkwall, too, she decided, urging her entire family to come with her.

“It looks like the Guard is keeping order successfully in Hightown,” she said as they left the posh neighborhood to a respectful salute from the guards by the gates.

“I doubt most of the trouble was occurring in Hightown,” Anders pointed out.

As they approached the streets of Lowtown, it became immediately clear that he was correct. Before they even reached the marketplace, they heard a loud, extremely self-righteous male voice making inflammatory statements in the open air— _like Petrice did not long ago,_ Caitlyn thought uncomfortably. But the substance of what was being said this time was very different.

“Mages among us, insinuated into the City Guard—this is a heresy and an attack on the public safety! The Guard is chartered and armed to _protect_ us from criminals, as are the Circles to protect us from mages! To place mages with the Guard is like placing gang leaders among them!”

Anders sucked in his breath sharply at that and glanced at Mal in regret that he would hear this. “That man is wrong,” he said quietly to his son. “He is a wicked fool. Don’t let his words bother you, Mal.”

“Well, _I_ heard that battlemages broke into the Keep to fight through the Qunari,” retorted someone. “And we all know what the Champion did. The Good Priest, our Grand Cleric, agrees, and _she_ speaks for the faithful!”

Caitlyn was glad that she had defenders still in the general population, but she could not help but note that they still were calling Petrice “the Good Priest.” It appeared that their first loyalties were to her, rather than to Caitlyn. _Well,_ she tried to reassure herself, _most of the poor—the native poor, at least—have long looked to the Kirkwall Chantry for all their guidance and stability in life. And Elthina was distant and isolated, so of course they are loyal to a Grand Cleric who they think understands and speaks to them._

“The ‘Good Priest,’” scoffed the man. “She doesn’t speak for the faithful! The Grand Clerics of Tantervale and Starkhaven, who have been priests much longer, disagree! ‘The strong power of the Templar Order in Kirkwall has kept it safe for years,’” he began to read in that arrogant tone. “‘If the people knew how many maleficarum and abominations the Templars of Knight-Commander Meredith have slain, what vile magical rites were interrupted in the dead of night, it would freeze the blood in their veins! Woe unto those who forget the debt they owe to the holy soldiers of the Maker.’” He cleared his throat just as Caitlyn and her family came into the clearing, but he did not notice them.

“That doesn’t mean every mage is bad! I just bet the Champion and others like her could do that too! And how would the Grand Clerics of Tantervale and Starkhaven know what goes on in Kirkwall?”

“Former Grand Cleric Elthina, falsely accused and unjustly deposed, has shared her knowledge! And as for your Champion—”

Another voice entered the argument, one belonging to a young woman with curly auburn hair. “Fear of magic tore my family apart and reduced it to abject poverty until recently!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you say another word!”

The man, who was wearing Templar armor and whose face looked vaguely familiar to Caitlyn, scoffed derisively. “Some relative of yours was a mage, and it made your family sad for them to be taken to a place where they can’t hurt normal people, so they stopped trying to do an honest day’s work? Is that what you mean? For all you know, _magic_ would have killed every last one of you if the Templars had not come!”

Anders was about to stride forward himself and attack the man, but Caitlyn stayed his hand before he did. This was not yet violent—

In half a second, before the Templar could even think to move, the auburn-haired woman had drawn a shortbow from her back and nocked an arrow, which she pointed directly at his crotch. “I warn you,” she snarled through clenched teeth, “one more word, and you’ll lose your manhood—such as it is.”

Several of the gathered people tittered at this.

The Templar sputtered in outrage. “You _dare_ threaten me?”

“I dare. You have no authority over me. In this place, you’re just another zealot raving in the streets!”

“I am _Ser_ Mettin of the Templar Order, a friend of the Knight-Commander, and I _do_ have authority over mage-sympathizing heretics—”

The bowstring snapped, and the arrow thudded at the man’s feet, a deliberate warning shot. He jumped and stumbled as the woman nocked another one immediately.

Caitlyn decided that the time had finally come to intervene. Making sure everyone gathered nearby could see her long red hair and mage’s staff, and thereby identify who she was, she strode forward, anger in her face. “No,” she said to Ser Mettin— _I knew I recognized him,_ she thought in grim satisfaction that this was indeed one of Meredith’s two remaining pet zealots. “You do _not._ And if you try to claim otherwise and act on that, I think I might decide to let the Grand Cleric know.”

“You,” Mettin seethed as the crowd whispered and chattered excitedly at the fact that Champion Hawke had paid them a visit. Several of them eyed her family in interest and admiration too.

“I know from personal experience what it is to have a family torn apart because of fear of magic,” she said, speaking more for the young woman and the gathered crowd than Mettin. “My husband, Warden-Enchanter Anders, whom you see here, was taken and kept from meeting our son until he was three years old. Anders is a Healer, but he didn’t get to help me through most of the pregnancy, deliver his own child, or see him as a baby.”

There were muttered statements of disapproval in the crowd at this. “A Healer and a blasted good one,” someone said in an undertone. “Saved me from the flu a couple of years ago!”

“Obviously, I am a mage myself, as you all know... but ‘mage sympathizers’ do seem to develop once they meet an innocent mage, or their child or sibling, someone they know and love, shows magic! If _you_ can’t understand that, that’s a deficiency _you_ have, ‘Ser’ Mettin.”

“Sounds right to me,” muttered someone in the crowd.

Mettin glowered again, aware that he had lost his audience and lost any vocal supporters in this particular crowd, before storming away from the marketplace.

The young archer picked up the arrow she had shot to the cobblestones and inspected its barb. Satisfied with the sharpness, she sheathed it in her quiver along with the second one she had taken out and replaced her shortbow on her back. She gazed in consideration at Caitlyn and her family. Finally, once the interest of the rest of the crowd had subsided, she approached them.

“Thank you for that,” she said. “I wouldn’t have minded shooting him where it would hurt, but I’m sure it would have caused yet another public brawl....”

“You might have been arrested!” Leandra exclaimed. “He doesn’t have that authority, but the City Guard does!”

“I’m good at evading people when I need to,” she said with a shrug, “but that would have put a crimp in my plans, to be sure.” She smiled at them, as if harboring some secret knowledge that they would like.

“Do I know you?” Caitlyn said, frowning in thought.

The young woman smiled again. “No, Champion. But I hope you will in time, all of you.” She gave them a rather dramatic and ironic, but quick, bow. “Charade Amell. I’m your cousin.”

Leandra let out a cry of disbelief and joy. Mal also burst into a smile at the prospect of new family. Caitlyn’s immediate instinct was to disbelieve—it seemed too good to be true that she could have more family after all, especially that her supposed cousin would appear so soon after Caitlyn rose to city-wide prominence—but as Charade continued to talk, that skepticism quickly faded.

“I am in town to look up my father, Gamlen Amell,” Charade explained as they all got out of the marketplace and sought privacy in a shady alley.

“I had no idea he had a daughter,” Caitlyn said.

“Neither does he, unless my mother wrote to him before she died. But I can prove what I say.” She gazed from Caitlyn to Anders and then to Mal, sadness in her face. “I heard what you said to that Templar. It’s horrible, and I wish that you hadn’t suffered that... but... at least you _did_ get to be a family after all.” She sighed. “My mother left him due to... his conduct, apparently. And an obsession of his that he was pursuing to his ruin. She said she never told him that she was expecting me... and she’s gone now.”

“But you are not,” Leandra said in compassionate tones. “You are here, and my brother does indeed live here. You still have the chance to know him—to get to know all of us.”

“You know our names, I presume, except maybe his,” Caitlyn said, her hand on Mal’s shoulder. “He is Malcolm Anders Hawke—named for my father, and of course, for his own. He goes by Mal and will be seven in Wintermarch.”

The boy extended a hand courteously to her, which she shook with a smile.

“My younger brother, Carver, is a Grey Warden serving in Ferelden right now,” Caitlyn said. A sad sigh escaped her. “And I _had_ a little sister too, Carver’s twin. Bethany. She was also a mage.” She felt Anders’ arm wrap around her waist in support and forced herself to talk about it to Charade. “She died in the Blight.”

“I’m sorry,” Charade said in low tones. “I wish I could have met her and your father.”

“Mother paints. She made portraits of the whole family, when we were all here,” she said. “You could see them sometime.”

“I would like that.” Charade shuffled through her pack, producing a sheaf of papers. “My mother’s name was Mara Hartling....”

“Mara?” Leandra said, her face lighting up. “The maid? I remember her. She gave you Gamlen’s surname!”

“They were married in secret,” Charade replied, her tone a little sharper at Leandra’s apparent assumption that that had not been the case. She pulled out a specific document. “So much for my grandfather for sending you out of the house, Aunt Leandra. Neither of their children had the hoity-toity political arranged marriage that they wanted. You and my father both married for love... even if it didn’t work out for my parents.” She smiled crookedly at Caitlyn. “And the _new_ family tradition continues.”

“That it does,” Anders said smugly, tightening his grip on her waist.

“This is their certificate of marriage. And the certificate of my naming, though the Chantry will have its own copies....” She withdrew a box from her pack. “And some valuables my mother left to me. Some of them, she said that Father gave to her.”

“Let’s all go to his house,” Leandra said. “We’re not far. I should warn you about Gamlen’s disposition, though....”

* * *

Charade was not visibly put off by her father’s grouchy personality, nor the state of disorder or smell of stale alcohol in the house where he lived. Her mother had apparently told her what to expect, and after all, for all of his faults, he was still her father and did accept her when she revealed who she was and gave him the cache of papers and ornaments that her mother had left her. At that point, his face softened and his voice actually grew husky. Caitlyn was stunned; he had never come close to an emotional moment.

“I cared for your mother,” he told Charade as he examined an embroidered handkerchief that had been hers. “I let her down... I failed her... but I always cared for her.” He sighed. “I wish I could have seen her one last time... but it’s my own fault.”

Charade took that in, nodding silently. “She understood. She told me your name and where to find you. I don’t think she would have done that if she hadn’t _wanted_ me to meet you.”

Gamlen hung his head miserably, then looked up at her again, deep pain in his lined eyes. “I didn’t know she was carrying you or I would have done anything to convince her to stay nearby, so that I could know you. Even if she didn’t want to be with me. As it was, when she left, it made me angry and I tried, over the years, to forget.” He gazed around the decrepit cabin. “Tried to drown myself in my own vices to forget her. Thought I had. But you never do. You never forget the people you really love, whatever you do to destroy yourself while trying. You just end up destroying yourself and everything good around you. I destroyed my chance to see you as a child, to have a family with the woman I loved.” He gazed at Charade. “Maker, you look so much like her.”

Caitlyn drew back silently, her eyes widening by the moment with each word he said. She had never thought she had anything in common with her uncle other than blood, but _this—_ this description of the behavior he had engaged in to attempt to forget his lost wife—was horrifyingly reminiscent of the morass of rage and unjustified grudges against Anders that she had held for so long, and which had almost destroyed _their_ renewed relationship, and the family _they_ now had, before they could form too.

Anders observed her movements and realized, in a second, what she was feeling. With no one else watching, he extended a hand to her. She gratefully took it, allowing him to pull her gently back to his side and Mal’s.

Gamlen looked up unhappily. “So I guess what I’m saying is, you have the right to know what your old man has truly been all these years, rather than believing a happy myth, but I don’t know if you can forgive me for my failure. I understand if you can’t. You still have found the rest of your family, even if your father is a sorry disappointment.”

Charade stared fiercely at him. “I’m glad to have found the rest of my family,” she said, “but none of them are my father. You are. Nothing you just told me is unforgivable. Do you think I didn’t know what to expect? I was looking for a man who my mother has always acknowledged she _left._ I didn’t have any happy myths in my head. I just wanted to find _you.”_

Gamlen looked at her in disbelieving, breaking happiness. “Then....”

“I won’t say these things don’t matter,” she said, “because of course they do, but they don’t change the fact that I want to get to know you. I want you in my life. You just said that trying to forget people you care about can destroy you. Don’t urge me to do it myself, because I won’t!”

Gamlen finally managed a laugh as the smile, so strange to Caitlyn’s eyes, bloomed on his face.

* * *

Leandra invited both of them to dinner at the Hawke house that night and did not take no for an answer. It was an opportunity for Charade and Gamlen to relax and get to know each other, and for Charade to become acquainted with the rest of her surviving family—sans her cousin Carver—and the political situation in Kirkwall in which they had become intimately involved.

“I heard about the deposed Grand Cleric and the Qunari attack,” Charade said, “and how you had been named as Champion. I was actually afraid that it would make you disinclined to believe I was telling the truth, that I surfaced as your cousin so soon after that.”

“I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind,” Caitlyn admitted, “but only for a moment, before you brought out the papers and items.”

“And now you’re about to become... something else.”

“I hope so,” she said quietly. “There have already been some small changes here, as you well know from your ‘experience’ in Lowtown, but I want to do a lot more. What you said to that Templar about how fear of magic had torn your family apart... it’s truer than you knew then. I assume you were talking about how my mother was sent away for marrying an apostate.”

Charade nodded. “Mother also told me about how Father’s cousin had a mage son taken from her, but from what else she told me, having worked in the Amell estate for years, our grandparents’ conduct to your mother seemed like the beginning of the fall.”

“It was only the beginning of a lot of things,” she said bitterly. “Other than my brother Carver, you truly are in the company of the last remaining members of the family. I said what happened to my branch of the family because I fell in love with a runaway mage... but even that wasn’t the worst.” She took a deep breath; her mother only knew that Caitlyn’s second cousin had died in the Fereldan Circle, and she would tell Charade the horrible details later. It was still a miserable thing to think about. “Our second cousin, who was sent to the Fereldan Circle, died there just before the Blight.”

Charade sighed, gazing at her empty plate. “I wish that surprised me.”

Caitlyn gazed intensely at Mal, who was seated next to her and was taking this news in soberly. “Anders and I agreed that we will _not_ let our child live in fear of being taken from us when we are perfectly capable of training him, nor will we sit back while this is done to other magical families.”

A steely smile of agreement filled Charade’s face. Despite Gamlen’s insistence that she resembled his late wife, Caitlyn thought there was some resemblance to Bethany as well, and her mother—the female Amell features of a soft oval face and very voluptuous body, of which Caitlyn herself had inherited few. Before her pregnancy had given her lasting curves around her hips, she had looked like a Hawke even more. But Charade definitely had some Amell characteristics, and at this moment, this look of determination on her face was exactly the one that Bethany had sometimes borne. It was sad, but at the same time, it made her glad in a somber way to see that look again.

* * *

“I’m going to invite them to live here,” Leandra said that evening. “They should not have to live in that decrepit, dirty house when we have so much. And if you do become Viscountess, Caitlyn, it would be a disgrace for your close relations to live like that. They should be here.”

Caitlyn saw her point and did not disagree with it. In addition, Charade was more than competent as an archer, and she would feel better about her mother choosing to live here—rather than moving to the Keep—if she had someone in the household who could defend her effectively. Still, there was one thing.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she said guardedly, “but please, don’t give him unfettered access to the fortune or let him spend on credit in the family name. He burned through it all once.”

“He said he was going to shape up and do better for Charade’s sake,” Leandra protested mildly. Indeed, Gamlen had announced his resolution at the end of dinner.

“And I hope that he can stick to it,” Caitlyn said, “but the truth is that we don’t yet know that he can... without help, at least. Don’t let him have the temptation of immense coin again. Give him a personal allowance, to spend as he sees fit, but make sure he knows he will not be able to spend any more than that amount, at the moment or in the future. I think Charade will support you.”

“I do too,” Leandra agreed. “I like her. She seems very sensible and wise in the ways of the world, but it doesn’t seem to have embittered her.”

That was a very apt way of describing her cousin, Caitlyn thought. “I agree, and I like her too. She is certainly less bitter than I was a few years ago—and she didn’t get to see her parents reconcile.” She rose from her chair and gave her mother an encouraging smile. “I’m glad that you won’t be here by yourself. You could have moved to the Keep, but I understand why you wanted to live here. I’m glad they will be with you.”

* * *

_The day of the Moot of High Nobles._

Caitlyn was anxious. It was to be expected, as this was the day that would decide her success or failure, but she knew it was imperative to try to subdue her own anxiety before the moot began. It was to be held in the outer Keep in one of the rooms that had been cleaned up and had not been so badly damaged by the Qunari that it had to be stripped bare.

Caitlyn had already resolved on a few things. She did not want to make assumptions and count herself Viscountess before she actually was, but she had not heard even a whisper of a rival candidate being backed by anyone. The debate today would likely be about whether to turn Kirkwall’s governance over to a mage, married to another mage, who had the blood of mages on both sides of her family. She was mostly prepared for that, and she tried to calm herself by thinking of that fact.

 _Then the fun part begins,_ she thought darkly. _Maybe that is what I am truly nervous about—not the fear that I’ll fail today, but that I will succeed._

Still, whatever came later, it was likely that this would unfold as she hoped, and in preparation for that, she had made some plans for the Keep. Viscount Dumar had been murdered in his private quarters. His bedroom had been stained with blood, and Caitlyn just could not see clear to sleeping in a room where that had happened—ever. It was one of the rooms that were now denuded of furnishings, but Caitlyn was not going to use it as her bedroom even once it was refurbished. She had chosen a different room, and they were going to have all of their readily portable possessions, to make the place as homelike as possible. One thing that the Keep’s steward would have to get used to was the fact that, unlike the late Viscountess-Consort, _her_ spouse would not have a separate bedroom. She and Anders didn’t care a bit that it was usual for heads of state. They had chosen each other for love and had not slept apart for any extended period of time since they had gotten back together three years ago. Frequent intimacy, even just cuddling, was good for their relationship, and they had no intention of cutting back due to some absurd custom probably intended to keep spouses in loveless arranged marriages from utterly hating each other.

Also, Anders had planned to consult with Petrice and arrange for healing to be available in the outer Keep as well as the Chantry, since it seemed—to his mild, nostalgic regret—that he would not be performing services in the Darktown clinic much longer. He planned to supervise the Circle Healers. And they had found a vast stone hall, apparently unused for ages and pockmarked with spell damage from when Kirkwall was Emerius, for Mal to practice.

However, before any of this could begin to happen, she had to convince the moot today and achieve her goal.

Caitlyn had taken care of her appearance, but she had never been especially vain or overly interested in fashion. It had been irrelevant for a farm girl in Lothering and a Lowtown vigilante, but even after moving to Hightown, old habits had died hard, and she had deemed it sufficient to wear clothes made of rich cloth. But for today, she knew that her personal appearance would matter. For a mage, especially a longtime apostate, she knew it was a fine line to walk between appearing strong yet not triggering anyone’s fear of magisters. She had ordered a gown made in dramatic colors—red and black, with gold and silver trim—but it was made in the usual Marcher noblewomen’s fashion, with no hints of Tevinter style, not even feathers, much as she wished she could wear them to match with Anders. She had been unsure at first about wearing red, with her vividly reddish-orange hair, but it turned out that her hair was _so_ vivid in shade that there was no clash. Instead, her appearance was evocative of simmering fire—fitting, she thought. Her bare-shoulder underdress was ruby-red silk, and a high-necked sleeveless overdress made of shiny black silk with dark red marbled streaks in the cloth covered it. Thin, delicate patterns in gold, red, and silver adorned the hem of the long skirt, and the Amell family heraldry was embroidered on the bodice in blood red. It was a stunning, darkly powerful-looking gown, one that she hoped was not too much for a power-seeking mage to wear, but she knew that now was not the time for meekness. She had been a noble for only three years, she had come from Ferelden, her father was not nobly born, it was well-known that she’d given birth to Mal before marrying his father, and she knew that every one of these people would think of these things. She had to exude strength.

There was one other matter for her appearance, a joyful task for Anders that morning.

“I know that you can style my hair,” Caitlyn said to him, “and now is your chance to make it really, really count.”

He was delighted. For his own appearance, he had merely worn a nicer coat in dark grey with dark grey feathers, with hints of red here and there to match her, and Mal was dressed in breeches and doublet to completely disguise the fact that he was a mage. There was not too much for the males to do. But he did love doing her hair; he always had, even in the early days in Lothering, and today he could devise something more elaborate than he ever had.

“I almost hate doing this,” he murmured as he braided segments of her hair and coiled them into a fancy updo. “It should flow down your back, because you are _free._ But I know what these people will expect.”

“It can flow down my back for you and Mal,” she said with a smile. “And the rest of my family and friends.”

Anders attached her braids in place with a black band. Loose tendrils did trail down the nape of her neck, prompting both of them to smile.

“You look so pretty, Mother,” Mal chimed in admiringly.

She turned around, beaming, her eyes watery. “Thank you, darling.”

Anders finished the hairdo and leaned down to peck her on the cheek. “He’s right, though. You do, and you’re ready now.”

“Physically,” she said, her tone wry.

He chuckled and gave her a tender hug. “We’re here for you. We always will be.”

From across the room, Leandra looked up. “That’s exactly right,” she said. Tears were in her eyes too as she crossed across the room to give her daughter a hug as well. “If only your father and siblings were here.... I’m so proud of you, and I’m sure he would be, and Bethany too... and maybe they _are_ watching....”

She returned her mother’s hug, trying not to choke up.

“If all goes well today, I think I am going to go to Ferelden soon to negotiate an alliance,” Caitlyn said, trying to return to business and not get lost in emotion right now. “I’ll try to bring Carver back with me to meet Charade, if Warden-Commander Cousland will let him go.”

“I would love to see him again soon,” Leandra said effusively. “I just hope he isn’t _too_ terribly jealous....”

“Oh, he will be,” Anders remarked, “but at this point, it’s kind of justified!”

A gasp of mildly affronted laughter burst from her at that, but she knew that he had accomplished his goal of finally relaxing her.

* * *

Varric had a voice and vote in the noble moots, as the representative of House Tethras of the Merchant’s Guild. It was a new development since Bartrand’s death, and he swore that he wouldn’t have used it until now anyway—but he arrived at the Hawke house that morning to go with them, to support his friend. She was glad of the additional company. Her mother was a worrier, Anders was very sweet and supportive but was manifestly nervous too, and Mal was not quite seven. Varric’s confident, jocular levity calmed her nerves better than anything had that morning.

“If you can actually make those useless toffs do anything for the good of the city—after voting for you—then I’ll make sure you get free drinks anywhere in town for the rest of your life,” he said. “And autographed, discounted copies of _Hard in Hightown,_ of course.”

“Just discounted?” she teased. “Not free?”

He smirked and shrugged. “A man’s got to make a living, Hawke.”

“What sort of discount?”

“What do you say to ten percent? That’s generous.”

At that, she had summoned a ball of magic in her hand playfully, not intending in the least to use it on him. He chuckled back at her as the group left the house.

Caitlyn had donned a concealing cloak over her gown, to make the dramatic reveal before the titled folk more impressive—and to protect the dress during the walk. As it turned out, this was a wise decision. As they neared the Keep, the now-familiar sound of loud, angry protesting voices emerged.

“Good lady!” begged one to a well-dressed woman who was ascending the steps. “Remember—” He began to read from a broadside. “In the words of the Grand Clerics of Tantervale and Starkhaven, and the exiled Grand Cleric Elthina, ‘we must ensure that the true faith is defended.’ Don’t let us down—”

The noblewoman passed by the man without comment. Caitlyn could not see her face even to identify her, let alone measure how she felt about this.

“The Apostate Hawke will send the Templars out of our city!” exclaimed another, rather excitable man. “She will turn us over to maleficarum!”

“I really hope the nobles aren’t listening to this,” Caitlyn muttered as they approached. “This would be a great time for their arrogance and disdain for the common people to manifest.” _And why are they protesting there unopposed?_ she thought. _Why hasn’t Petrice sent some Templars loyal to her to disperse these miscreants? I helped her. I risked my life to support Varnell in Darktown with the Qunari assassin squad... the one that failed,_ she amended bitterly. _She could do more than this. Does she think her debt is paid now that she has declared me free of the Circle and instituted some meager reforms?_

As she had expected, the din increased markedly as Caitlyn and her group came into view. Several protesters pointed and exclaimed in derision and fear at the sight of the group, with the two adult mages who were openly carrying their staves.

“The apostate! Block her! Don’t let her enter!”

 _They wouldn’t!_ Caitlyn thought in shock and sudden fury. But they would, and they did. A knot of wild-eyed protesters converged to form a line across one of the steps, linking arms and glaring at the group defiantly.

Anders sucked in his breath hard. Leandra gazed worriedly at her daughter, and Mal looked afraid.

“Get out of the way,” Caitlyn demanded in a low voice to the one who appeared to be the leader. “You are unlawfully blocking our entrance.”

“You are unlawfully walking around,” the man sneered back. “I don’t care what they decide. No apostate will ever be my Viscountess.”

Something inside Caitlyn snapped. She did not hesitate; in the next second, she drew her staff hand back, casting the one force magic spell that she had learned since beginning her study of that school—but that was enough. The gravitic warp broke the line that the protesters had formed, jerking their elbows apart violently. Several of them cried out in pain; she found that she did not much care if they had dislocations or muscle sprains as a result, as she stormed through the group, her family and Varric following behind.

Once they were admitted to the Keep, but before they began to mingle with the other society folk and nobles, Leandra looked at Caitlyn worriedly. Even Varric seemed surprised at what she had done. Anders, however, manifestly approved.

“Mother, that confrontation was inevitably going to become violent,” Caitlyn said quietly. “They did not have the right to block us. It would have been worse for someone who _wasn’t_ a mage, someone who had to use traditional weapons.”

Leandra sighed, but she could not argue the point.

Anders took her aside just before the moot began for a quick, private talk. “This is going to get worse after they vote for you,” he said. “What have you thought about doing to deal with it?”

She hardened her gaze as she stared past him. “People like that cannot be satisfied. They won’t be placated with anything other than complete surrender to their demands, which I won’t do, obviously. No leader can please everyone, and as far as _they_ are concerned, to the Void with them,” she said coldly. “I’m more resolved than ever on this. And if they, or others like them, try anything else that is against the law, then they will _meet_ the law.”

He drew back slightly, gaping at her in admiration and awe. “You’ve changed lately,” he remarked. “You used to want to offer compromises and try to persuade as many as you could... I remember the first time you met Fenris in particular....”

“Some will not be persuaded. Fenris changed his views—at least of this family—and he’s not here anyway, and I have no idea if we’ll ever see him or Isabela again. Those zealots outside are a different matter. What did magic ever do to them? Magic harmed Fenris; what’s _their_ excuse? Magic saved their city _quite_ recently, but instead, they believe Meredith’s lies about that, no doubt! To the Void with them, as I said. And speaking of her... her behavior lately, the Qunari attack, and Elthina’s treason have made me rather less inclined to treat with their sort. I can’t persuade these people. They think I should be in the Circle, or even worse. I might as well go all the way in the opposite direction and take the high seat.” She smiled wryly at them. “I’m not a full revolutionary. I still want to do this properly. That’s _why_ I am taking the high seat and why I am working with Divine Justinia through Leliana.”

He smiled back and gave her a quick forehead peck. “I hope it works. Oh... it’s time,” he said as the loitering nobles began to enter the chamber.

* * *

Seneschal Bran of the Keep was presiding as the master of ceremonies for the meet. He had no vote, but he would keep order and move the proceedings along as a purportedly neutral party representing Kirkwall itself.

“Lords and ladies, knights of Kirkwall, esteemed merchant princes of the dwarven people—we are gathered today to select a new Viscount or Viscountess to rule this city following the tragic murder of Viscount Marlowe Dumar and the betrayal of his son, Saemus, who converted to the Qun and departed with those who attacked this city, thereby renouncing his claim.”

The crowd booed at this.

“In moots with this stated purpose, it is traditional to settle the great business of the high seat before any other business, and for those nobles who are sponsoring a candidate for Viscount or Viscountess to speak first, according to the precedence of their titles. Comte Guillaume de Launcet, as the sponsor with the highest title, the City recognizes you.”

Caitlyn and her supporters had decided on this. Although Ser Marlein Selbrech and Mistress Selby were the most enthusiastic about her, Ser Marlein was lower in precedence than many here, as a landed knight, and Mistress Selby actually had no vote at all, merely being a rich woman.

The bearded, somewhat corpulent nobleman ascended and began to speak. “Nobles and good folk,” he rumbled, “I come here today first to express my gratitude for the valor and heroism of all who fought to defend this city against the Qunari, including several present here today.”

The group dutifully applauded. Caitlyn noted scornfully that she could count on one hand the number who had fought. Most of them had cowered before the Arishok as he held up the severed head of Viscount Dumar and ranted at them.

“I would like to offer special recognition to one in particular, Lady Caitlyn Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, for her single-handed defeat of the Arishok of the Qunari and blessing by our new Grand Cleric following that duel. And it is she whom I sponsor and nominate to be our next Viscountess—the blood of the noble Amell family, the granddaughter of the man we perhaps _should_ have had as our Viscount, the late Aristide Amell.”

Caitlyn did not have much use for her Grandfather Amell, who had sent his daughter out of the house to an unknown fate, denying her the chance to say goodbye to her mother, and never contacted her again, rather than countenance her marriage to an apostate mage or attempt to protect her, her husband, and her unborn child. Caitlyn’s memories of her own father’s determination to protect Anders—even though it cost him his life in the end—contrasted sharply with this, and as she reflected on who exactly was speaking, she could not but acknowledge that the man who was actually scorned by her mother’s elopement had been far more forgiving and reasonable than her grandfather. She did not think her grandfather would have been a better Viscount than Dumar. Still, she knew that the Amell name still carried weight here, and she was capitalizing on that fact herself.

“Champion Hawke has proven herself time and again, putting the well-being and interests of Kirkwall first, risking herself to help the city. Since returning to the cradle of her noble blood, she has become a leader and, with our new Grand Cleric, a prophet of sorts who foresaw the Qunari threat before many did. In addition, she has a healthy son and heir, and a loyal spouse who has done his part for the city as well after being assigned as a Grey Warden by the Hero of the Fifth Blight, the noble Elissa Cousland of Ferelden—with whom he served and helped defeat an ancient evil.”

Caitlyn and Anders had given the man a brief overview of what had happened in Amaranthine, including Anders’ part in slaying the Architect. It would not hurt, and could only help.

“Finally, although she is a mage, as you all know, she has been blessed by our Grand Cleric Petrice and rewarded for proving herself beyond doubt. As the father of a mage myself—yes, it is true—I do not question the decree of one who speaks with the approval of Divine Justinia, the mortal voice of the Maker and His Prophet Andraste. Our Champion, Lady Caitlyn Hawke, I propose for our next Viscountess.”

Comte de Launcet finished speaking and returned to the crowd to stand by his wife and daughters as the group broke into applause and incoherent discussion. As the noise grew louder, Seneschal Bran returned to the podium and thumped the gavel for order.

“No other member of this moot submitted a nomination for Viscount or Viscountess in advance of the moot,” Seneschal Bran announced. “We shall therefore debate the nomination that Comte de Launcet has entered and vote on it, and any who have an alternate candidate to nominate at this late hour may do so only if Lady Caitlyn Hawke should fail to garner a majority of yeas.”

A gray-haired noblewoman who was rather shabbily dressed spoke to the seneschal, demanding the podium. “Lady Agnes Vorse de Soliere addresses the moot,” he announced.

The woman stormed up to the podium, unconcerned about the poor quality of her clothing. Although Caitlyn preternaturally sensed that she was an opponent, she could not help but respect the woman for her proud indifference to what these people thought.

“Nobles of Kirkwall,” Lady Agnes said, “I come before you not to condemn your Champion or question that the Grand Cleric did right. But I do urge you not to act rashly and choose a mage, one who has lived her entire life as an apostate and has had a child with another mage, as your next leader. The noble comte has a son who is a mage, and by all accounts is a faithful, obedient disciple of the Circle. But I urge you not to let your emotions rule you! I had a mage in my family too, but sadly, his story was not so benign.”

The crowd was transfixed, whether in suspicion or interest, at her words.

“My son, Heborah de Soliere, was a mage too—but he turned to evil, and this cost him his life. He became a maleficar, and used blood magic in his apostasy. Under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard, the Templars gave him a merciful death. I can but hope that he had his atonement with the Maker at the last and does not walk the Void even now.”

Anders muttered derisively under his breath. Caitlyn did not catch exactly what he said word-for-word, but she did catch the gist of it: utter disdain for a mother who would speculate that her own son was rejected by the Maker and prowled the Void in death because of the type of magic he had allegedly performed. For her part, she felt conflicted. She felt that Lady Agnes was sincere, and that her objection was not personal against Caitlyn, but that she was one of those people who had been conditioned to distrust all magic because of one bad experience with it. And yet, at the same time.... _I was a maleficar too until very recently. I hope I don’t become so again,_ she thought. _And if anyone here except Anders and Varric knew that, even Petrice could not bail me out of trouble for it. And Merrill, a dear friend, nearly paid the ultimate price for my use of blood magic. I almost allowed a rage demon into my mind. Are those who fear maleficarum wrong? I’m not convinced that they are._

She tried to calm her turbulent thoughts. She had vowed to herself and Anders never to use blood magic again, to use force magic instead when she needed something strong and destructive, and she was determined to keep that vow, especially if she succeeded at her goal and gained great power.

“Many, likely most, mages are good—and I’ve no doubt that the Champion is among them,” said Lady Agnes. “But it is a sad truth that if they ever have a moment of weakness as we all sometimes do, the consequences are terrible.”

As Lady Agnes descended from the podium, the moot erupted in debate and discord. _I need to speak in my defense now,_ she realized. As the chaos swirled around her, she approached Seneschal Bran.

“I would speak for myself now,” she told him.

The seneschal nodded and began to bang his gavel again, calling for order. The room quieted at his command, and Caitlyn took the podium.

She took a deep breath and addressed the assembled nobles, aware that the direction of her life, Anders’ life, Mal’s life, and possibly even the future of their cause depended on what she said.

“Nobles and good folk of Kirkwall,” she said, “I acknowledge the worries of Lady Agnes, but I must say that there are good and evil people, strong and weak people, among any class and category. It is true that mages have great capacity to magnify their potential for good or evil, but that is not unique to us. We are all born with different potential, and magic is only one... dimension... of that. Some have more power to do harm—or good—and some have less. Among the Qunari, mages are leashed and collared; they have no power, and their people are ruled by bureaucrats and warlords. If I were a great swordswoman and defeated the Arishok with my skill at arms, would you be ‘ruled by the sword’?”

The crowd murmured among themselves, many heads nodding in understanding of her argument.

“No!” she answered rhetorically. “Of course you would not—and no more will you be ‘ruled by magic’ if you choose me as your Viscountess. In Kirkwall, in keeping with the heritage of freedom and self-rule that Marcher cities have, we are ruled by _the law._ As your Viscountess, I will adhere to the law in all my decisions.” She paused for effect, taking in the many smiles in the crowd. “As a swordsman will use his best weapon to defend his people, so will I—and magic is my best weapon. It is a weapon I have had since birth, usable to me since I was a child. I am a mage, as you all saw the night that I defeated the Arishok and sent the Qunari back to Par Vollen!”

Cheers erupted, and Caitlyn paused again to allow them to subside.

“I may, if the need arises again as it did that dark night, defend the people and city of Kirkwall by magic. But I will never _rule_ by magic, any more than I would rule by the sword or by any other show of force and tyranny. I am no Tevinter magister, friends. Magic will not _rule_ you—but it _will_ serve you, as it served you the night the Arishok fell. My magic, and the magic of my husband, will continue to _serve_ you even if you choose another Viscount or Viscountess, because we respect the law and free way of life in Kirkwall.”

She stepped back from the podium at that, watching very closely for the reaction of the crowd. Although Lady Agnes and those who sympathized with her were still dissatisfied, there was a clear majority in support, applauding her words. Trying to suppress a smile—and a renewed surge of fear for what she was certain was about to happen—she returned to the front of the crowd and yielded the platform to Seneschal Bran again.

“Are there any others who would address the moot about Lady Caitlyn Hawke’s nomination?” he bellowed.

No one spoke up to do that. Instead a voice called out, “Vote! Vote for the Champion!”

The cry of _“Vote! Vote! Vote!”_ was taken up rapidly. Seneschal Bran called for order again and announced the vote.

Caitlyn stood back; as a nominee herself, she did not have a vote, but her mother did as the representative of the Amell family, and Varric did. Tears formed in her eyes as they called out their _“aye”_ for her—and as the vote progressed, it became apparent to her that she had a clear majority. There were a couple of _“nay”_ votes, and some abstentions, but she was keeping a mental count, and the seneschal was keeping an official marked tally on the podium.

She knew what the outcome was before he gaveled the end of the vote. Her breath caught in her chest. “The yeas carry the vote. Lords, ladies, knights, and merchant princes of Kirkwall, I present to you your Viscountess-Elect, Caitlyn Hawke.”

Mal joined the cheers and hugged his mother around the waist. Anders pulled her close, enveloping both of them in a hug, as the cheers and claps filled her ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a doll I made of Caitlyn](https://betagyrewrites.wordpress.com/2019/03/01/ooak-dolls-a-photo-shoot/). Her hair is actually even less golden, and redder, than those photos indicate. ([Here](https://betagyrewrites.wordpress.com/2018/12/23/ooak-custom-doll-hawke/) is a different shoot that captures her hair color a little better in some photos.) I think she could get away with wearing the gown in this chapter, although I haven't made it for her yet.


	12. An Alliance with the Home Country

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story definitely has a different theme than that show I’m not going to talk about anymore. Other than mage rights (and I assume everyone reading this is on the same page with that!), I’m not going to stuff a moral lesson down your throats, especially one about meeting the new boss who is the same as the old boss (yup, sorry, that particular lyric will not be a chapter title!). I mean this story to be more complex than that, and to seriously contemplate the alternative: that maybe the ends _do_ justify the means, that maybe those who want change _do_ have to do dark things. But I won’t stuff _that_ down your throats either; I hope to keep it an open question.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

_A week later._

People were gathered in and around the _Viscountess’s_ Keep to observe the coronation of their new leader. Caitlyn’s family, friends, and allies were at the front. The nobles, knights, wealthy families, and those of high rank in the Guard, Chantry, Templars, and even the Circle of Magi had prominent positions inside the structure. The rest were farther back or converging on the steps and outer courtyard. No one present was allowed to bear arms, and Caitlyn observed, cynically, that First Enchanter Orsino and the few other mages who were allowed to attend each had a Templar standing beside them warily. _As if mages would attack a mage Viscountess who openly wants to help them!_ she thought in derision. _Maybe the point is to remind them that, whatever I may have, it will not be that way for them._

She tried to banish this bitter thought.  _We’ll see about that,_ she decided instead. She focused on her family and friends rather than dwelling on unpleasant thoughts. Anders and Mal stood beside her, beaming and smiling. It was unusual to see Anders smile so broadly; since they had reunited three years ago, most of his happy moments had been tinged with some melancholy. She turned to her family next. Carver had come to Kirkwall this morning, just in time. His smile was somewhat forced; she could tell that he was indeed jealous, but he had done his duty and understood that his life would only be affected positively by his sister’s ascension. Gamlen and Charade were well-dressed now, eager to move into the Hightown house, which would happen officially today. When Caitlyn became Viscountess, Charade would become the heir of the Hawke-Amell family.

Her gaze then shifted to her friends. Varric and Aveline were the only two present; she had deeply regretted that Merrill could not safely come, but since Meredith’s people were after her, Caitlyn would not dream of asking her friend to risk her liberty and probably even her life to see Caitlyn’s moment of glory. Aveline wore her usual mask of resolute firmness, but Caitlyn thought she saw some pride behind it too. Varric was grinning from ear to ear.

Behind her loved ones were her staunchest allies. They watched with approval and expectation but no real warmth.  _They are not loyal to me because of the bonds of blood or affection,_ she thought.  _They back me because of what I have promised. I have to deliver._

Behind them were the other nobles and the officials of high rank. Meredith Stannard stood beside First Enchanter Orsino like the master of a dog, glaring menacingly at Caitlyn.  _She wishes to be anywhere else,_ Caitlyn thought—and then instantly realized that this wasn’t true.  _No, she doesn’t. She is not intimidated. She thinks it is wrong, that it shouldn’t happen, and she sees herself as the vanguard against it._ There were few pictures remaining of Viscount Threnhold, whom Meredith had assassinated, but Caitlyn had seen one painting, and it chilled her.  _If she ever tries,_ Caitlyn privately vowed to herself and her family,  _it will be the last thing she does._

Beside another mage stood Ser Mettin, the Templar who had been ranting in the streets, who used to work for Viscount Dumar to keep mage supporters out of his office. Caitlyn had urged Petrice to dismiss him from this position, and the Grand Cleric had obliged. She was not sure if he or Meredith had been the “M” passing messages with Elthina, but she wanted him gone from the Keep. Meredith apparently had chosen him to be here simply to spite Caitlyn, and he glared back at her. Beside him was a Templar with gray fuzz on his face and a sinister look in his eyes whom she did not know. She wondered if this might be the infamous Ser Alrik, who tried to kill children and who, according to Ser Thrask, had liked the Rite of Tranquility.  _They had better not be performing it anymore,_ she thought.  _I hope Petrice is actually making sure her dictum is enforced._ She meant to use her newfound power to find out.

Grand Cleric Petrice had been speaking, giving an account of Kirkwall’s tumultuous history and focusing on triumphs, casting Caitlyn’s ascension as a new triumph for goodness. Caitlyn hoped it would be true.  _To the best of my ability, I will make it so,_ she vowed. At last the priest finished her speech.

“Do you, Caitlyn Hawke, blood of House Amell of Kirkwall, swear to govern Kirkwall according to the law of the city?”

“I do,” she said, her heart pounding.

“Do you swear to the best of your ability and judgment to act in the interests of the people of Kirkwall in all things?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to uphold justice in the city to the best of your ability?”

“I do.” She caught Anders’ eyes, faint grins forming on each of their faces.

“Then may the Maker and His Prophet protect and guide you. You may now receive the crown.”

Caitlyn knelt and bowed her head. The priest lifted up the dark silver diadem and placed it firmly on Caitlyn’s head.

“Rise, Viscountess Caitlyn Hawke.”

Caitlyn got to her feet and gazed out at the crowd, all of whom were applauding, some sincere, some not.  _The future of the city is on me now,_ she thought,  _and possibly the future of all mages in southern Thedas. Maker protect and guide me indeed._ Although she believed in the Maker, she had never thought He took much interest in mortal affairs, based on the amount of evil and injustice in the world.  _I am not going to further evil and injustice,_ she thought.  _Of course... no one thinks that they do. But I am not going to turn a blind eye to them, either. I have power. I will use it for good._

* * *

Caitlyn did not want to make the mistake Dumar had of relying on the views and priorities of one person, the Grand Cleric or anyone else. Her first act, which she commenced once the coronation ceremony was concluded and her family was officially settled in the Keep, was to convene a Small Council to divide the various areas of governing among those who were most qualified for each area and to discuss first steps. This council consisted of Anders, Varric, Aveline, Ser Marlein, Comte de Launcet, Mistress Selby, Petrice, and—after agonizing over it—Merrill. If the Templars were after Merrill, it seemed risky to give her such a prominent position, even though the meetings of the Small Council were private and well-guarded. But Caitlyn did not want to leave the elven population unrepresented, nor did she want to let Merrill feel abandoned and isolated from her own friends when she was trying to turn from her demon associate and blood magic. Caitlyn also thought that, counter-intuitively, it might actually protect her friend better to have this imprimatur.

She had wanted to have a friendly Templar on the council, but she knew that with Meredith’s lawless, vindictive behavior lately—and the fact that the highest Templars in the Chantry were backing her and Divine Justinia was unwilling to provoke their wrath yet—it would gravely endanger a known liberal like Thrask to be singled out thus, and she was not sure enough of the loyalty of Knight-Captain Cullen or Ser Agatha to choose one of them. Varric was an associate of Thrask; he could ferry information to Caitlyn.

The sun grew low in the sky, and the diadem of Kirkwall pressed upon her temples as she called the first meeting of her Small Council to order.

“Friends,” she said, smiling at those who were, “closest, most loyal allies. This was a new day for Kirkwall, and this Council is going to be a lasting change to the way this city is governed. You have been chosen for your loyalty, yes, but also for your knowledge in a subject relevant to governance, be that finance and commerce”—she gave Varric a grin—“security and defense”—a nod to Aveline—“Kirkwall customs and traditions, foreign relations, or to speak for the interests of part of the city’s population.”

Anders spoke up wryly. “And I’m here so that you don’t have to repeat anything for me later?” he teased.

The rest of the Council laughed nervously as Caitlyn shook her head in feigned exasperation and smirked at him. “Just for that, _dear,_ you get the biggest portfolio of all.” The chuckles grew momentarily louder. “You are going to handle public health, further Circle reform ideas, relations with the Grey Warden order, reports on the Fereldan population—oh, yes, and you will be my chief advisor on law and justice, too.”

There were several confused looks at this last inclusion in Anders’ list of responsibilities, though Varric, Aveline, and Merrill knew exactly why she had said it. Varric and Aveline in particular seemed surprised that she would be that daring in this place; they quickly lowered their heads to conceal their wide eyes.

“The proceeds from the fundraiser at Chateau Haine and Captain Isabela’s sale of the Tome of Koslun have been placed in the treasury,” Caitlyn said. “Aveline has a list of city properties that were damaged. Varric, you’re in charge of seeing that the rest of the funds go to those who are bereaved or who lost property. The rest of this Council should have or be able to readily obtain that information. Nobles can focus on Hightown, Mistress Selby and Merrill on Lowtown, the Grand Cleric will already have a list of mourners, and so on.”

Varric nodded, pleased and approving of the idea. “Understood, Ha—Your Grace,” he quickly corrected.

_I hope they still call me by my name among friends,_ she thought with a pang.  _I don’t want to lose my friends to this. I feared that two years ago and decided that I wouldn’t let it come to pass. Now I must see it through._

“I have decided to seek foreign alliances immediately,” she said, changing the subject. “As you know, Kirkwall faces a threat from the north, the alliance between Tantervale and Starkhaven, which formed during Viscount Dumar’s reign but is likely to be even more... energized... now that I wear the diadem. We must assume that the traitor Elthina is with the Prince of Starkhaven and has shared everything she knows about Kirkwall with him. I am told in confidence—though it isn’t hard to surmise—that we also face an internal revolt in the Chantry against Divine Justinia, and that this northern alliance, as well as _certain_ people within our own city, may be aligned with this rebellion.”

Petrice glowered. “It is true,” she confirmed. “There are some in the Chantry who persist in believing that mages are a threat to the faith, even after a great Thedosian city was attacked by the Qunari.”

“I’m not going to take us to war without provocation,” Caitlyn said firmly. “We need to recover first, and fix our own problems, and I would prefer to resolve these kinds of issues peacefully if possible. I will do what is necessary to defend Kirkwall, but I will not strike first unless I decide, with the input of this Council, that that is the only way to defend the city. For now, I want to have strong alliances with friendly sovereign cities and nations... and I think that the first allies should be Ferelden and Orlais.”

The Council digested this. Finally Ser Marlein spoke up. “Orlais will be more of a challenge than Ferelden.”

Caitlyn nodded. “I know. To that end, I’d like to send the Comte, as a noble with Orlesian ties, to negotiate it.”

Comte de Launcet drew back in surprise. He was sensible of the honor, but clearly intimidated by the prospect. “Your Grace,” he sputtered, “I thank you.”

“I chose you for a reason,” she said to instill confidence in him. “You have maintained your family’s friendly relationship with the Montfort family all these years, while my mother’s family, of course, had not seen the Duke until the recent hunt. You are welcome to bring any whom you trust with you.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

She faced the rest of the Council. “As to Ferelden... I have decided to make that trip myself. I know it is unorthodox,” she said as Ser Marlein’s and Mistress Selby’s eyebrows went up, “but my husband remains a Grey Warden. I am the appropriate person in this instance.” That was not the actual reason why she wasn’t sending Anders, but no one in this Council needed to know that he had been exiled from Ferelden by the Warden-Commander for murdering a Warden. She knew that Lady Cousland would not enforce that edict for the consort of a head of state, but she still did not want to put him on the spot.

“Finally... thinking closer to home... I have decided to firm up Kirkwall’s local defenses with an alliance with the Sabrae clan of Dalish elves, who live on the Sundermount.”

Merrill, who had had nothing to say thus far, suddenly looked up in interest.

“The Sundermount is wild territory,” Caitlyn continued. She was becoming more uneasy now. She had promised herself and Anders this when he had raised the issue a while back of Petrice potentially harassing the Dalish over their religion, but it was likely to be controversial, and she knew that she had to sell this expertly now. “No nobles claim it, and no settlement exists except for the Dalish one. No one with peaceful, lawful intent would be displaced. I have decided to deed the mountain to the Sabrae clan to govern as a protectorate of Kirkwall, so long as they reside there, with the stipulation that they must defend it against outlaws, foreign soldiers, and other threats such as dragons and demons. It will benefit both us and them.”

As Caitlyn had feared, this went over rather less readily than her ideas of alliances with Orlais and Ferelden. Even her two noble allies were dubious, and Petrice looked openly mutinous.

The Grand Cleric did not wait long to speak. “Your Grace,” she said at once, “I understand your reasons for doing this, from the perspective of defense, but there is another matter that must be addressed in any agreement.”

Caitlyn was sure she knew what was coming, but she had to hear it herself. “What might that be, Grand Cleric?”

“The Dalish do not believe in the Maker or recognize Andraste as His Prophet,” she said. “They follow their own pagan gods. It is the Chantry’s mission to spread the word to all who do not believe. And of course, we recognize that this may be dangerous to our missionaries... it is part of the duty of service to the Maker... but that is no reason why the risk cannot be lessened to the extent possible. The Dalish are known to be hostile to travelers, and if they are given the right to self-govern under the protection of Kirkwall, they will only feel emboldened.”

Across the table, Merrill was glowering at the priest, and Varric was attempting to conceal Merrill’s reaction as well as he could.

“I must ask that the deal guarantee safe passage to Chantry missionaries who go there to speak the Chant of Light,” Petrice said, “and that if the Dalish attack peaceful missionaries, that Kirkwall will see justice done for it.”

Caitlyn had known it was coming, but hearing it—a demand, rather than a request, however Petrice phrased it—was still demoralizing. In her view, the Dalish should be left alone to believe as they saw fit without being subjected to missionaries entering their camp to preach. And yet... if the missionaries were peaceful, they should not have to fear for their lives just for walking on bare ground and talking about their beliefs. It wasn’t as if they were trespassing....

_Or is it?_ Caitlyn suddenly thought.  _What is a “house” to a Dalish elf? Do they see their aravels as houses, or the land that they claim? Maybe they do see this as trespassing and feel justified in attacking trespassers just as a human or dwarf would attack someone who burglarized their house._

She realized that this was exactly how the Dalish saw it. The forest was their “house.” She wanted to show respect for them, but she knew that this would be a hard line not just for the Grand Cleric, but for many in the human nobility too. Even her strongest noble allies had qualms; how much more so would the ones not on her Council?  _And I am a mage. If I’m already widely known as a mage who wants “radical” changes for mages, I have to be very careful how much I go against the Chantry. And I cannot afford to lose Petrice._

The calculation was made. She felt bad; it seemed like a betrayal, of her own ideals if nothing else, but she couldn’t see a way around it. Trying not to look at Merrill—or Anders—she answered at last. “I understand. I will write such a clause into the deed and the contract with Keeper Marethari. No travelers who walk about peacefully should have to fear for their lives in lands that have Kirkwall’s protection.”

Merrill was shocked and stared at her friend with reproach in her eyes. Caitlyn could not look at her.

After that, the Council planned the details of Comte de Launcet’s trip to Val Royeaux and Caitlyn’s to Denerim. Anders kept shooting her pointed looks, and she knew she was in for another discussion afterward, but she could not see another way, painful as it was.

* * *

“Anders, what would you have done?” she said that evening when they were at home—“home” now being the Keep. It was strange to walk around the place and know that the rooms were her own, even though Baldwin and Pounce had already made themselves at home, and even though their family quarters were furnished with their familiar possessions from the Hawke house just up the street. _Mother is not alone,_ she thought. _She has Uncle Gamlen, Charade, and—for a few days—Carver with her. Merrill is also there tonight for her own protection. I hope she and Carver finally...._ She broke off that trail of thought, not really caring to think of her brother’s private activities after all.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, stroking Pounce in his lap. “I don’t like the idea of people being killed just for saying what they believe either. Too many mages are targeted for affiliation with the Libertarian Fraternity. But I think to the Dalish, it’s not that simple and not about what the missionaries believe.”

“I know,” she sighed heavily. “To them, it’s about dealing with people who trespass in their homes. But the people of Kirkwall—my own allies, even—won’t understand that. My position is still precarious.” Mal was in the room with them, obviously listening to his parents’ conversation even though he was pretending to read a book, but she found that she didn’t care. He would be seven years old a day after she returned from Ferelden, and his mother was the Viscountess of Kirkwall now. This was going to be part of his life forever.

“You did it to protect them from her,” Anders finally said, recalling the discussion they’d had about Petrice’s religious zealotry before the Qunari attack. “It wasn’t to insult or injure them; it was to secure their position as well as you could.”

She was immensely grateful that he understood. She got up from her seat and sat next to him on the divan, giving him a hug and leaning into him. “It was,” she said quietly. “I wonder if I gave Petrice too much too... but I really did mean well.”

“I know you did,” he said, returning her hug gently. He kissed the top of her head. “I think it’ll work out... _Your Grace.”_

Pleased with the levity, she turned her gaze on his and smirked—but only for a moment. This was actually a serious topic, and her smirk faded at once. “Anders,” she said, “I was thinking about this in the meeting today. I don’t want to lose my friends to the formality of the position... and Maker knows I don’t want to lose  _you._ In our family quarters, I’m not your Viscountess. I’m just Caitlyn. I’m just your wife, and you are my husband. In our family quarters, we are a  _family_ and we are  _equals.”_

He muffled a cry and pulled her into a very tight embrace, resting his head atop hers gently.

* * *

The deal that Caitlyn signed with Keeper Marethari was one that ultimately no one liked. It charged the Dalish with protecting the mountain passes in return for Kirkwall’s protection—something that several Hightown families did not want their taxes to pay for and many City Guards did not want to do. Aveline planned to deal with insubordination harshly if it actually occurred, and Caitlyn urged her to consider recruiting from among the elven population in the meantime. Marethari warned Caitlyn that some hunters did not feel that they needed “shemlen” protection either. The provision for Chantry missionaries was also one that nobody liked: The Keeper would permit peaceful missionaries if they encountered the clan, but they would not have the right to enter an aravel or interrupt a Dalish ceremony. Caitlyn suspected that the Keeper intended to use her magic to make it harder for the missionaries to find the Dalish at all, since she acceded to that specific phrasing, and Petrice seemed suspicious too at the signing, but they both did assent. Caitlyn hoped that it would not all end in disaster.

By the time she had formalized the Sundermount agreement, she was almost ready to depart for Ferelden. In the meantime, she had received letters of congratulations from every Thedosian nation and city-state except three: Starkhaven, Tantervale, and Hercinia. She expected no less from the northern states, as rude and offensive as it was; she already knew that they would not consider her a legitimate leader, but a usurper who should not even be walking free. Hercinia’s inclusion was more concerning, and she did not know whether their letter was simply delayed or if they too had joined the reactionaries. Time would tell, she supposed. The friendliest letters were from Ferelden, Antiva, Markham, Ansburg—and Tevinter. That, she supposed, also wasn’t surprising. The letter from Empress Celene was opaquely polite, but Caitlyn still had hopes for the Comte’s diplomatic mission to Orlais.

In addition to the official correspondence of heads of state, Caitlyn and her family had received letters and trinkets from two others: Fenris and Isabela, who were in Rialto Bay. From what she could gather, they were together—sailing on the same ship—but were not a couple at the moment. _We have some business to see to up here,_ Isabela had written. _Broody Elf thinks he has a lead on his former master’s whereabouts. But we do mean to return to Kirkwall at some point. It’ll be interesting to see how different it is thanks to you!_

“Depending on how long they are gone, it could be quite different,” Anders said with a smile as he returned this letter to her.

“Hopefully for the better!” Caitlyn replied.

His smile broadened. “It already is.”

She smiled back and gave him a quick hug. Her smile faded. “My work is cut out for me. You heard what Elthina said.”

From exile, the former Grand Cleric had declared her extreme disapproval of the selection of a mage Viscountess, claiming that she had to flee for her life due to the “lies” and machinations of Caitlyn and “those in the Chantry her mage family controls,” clearly meaning Petrice—and possibly even the Divine. The anti-mage, anti-Hawke zealots in the streets, who had been agitating ever since Caitlyn’s coronation, were quoting her words as if they were a new verse in the Chant of Light.

Caitlyn was getting sick of it; it had been going on for a week, and with every day that passed, she was that much more inclined to order a crackdown on sedition.  _And that is what it is,_ she thought. The only thing that stayed her hand was that it had become peaceful after she was crowned. The street fights had ceased, which she attributed—and Anders agreed—to direction from Meredith Stannard’s agents to change their tactics now that she held the power to imprison them. If she imprisoned them simply for their speech, she fully expected violence to begin anew.

Anders scowled ahead. “No one should care what a defrocked priest and confirmed traitor thinks,” he muttered, “but I know—many do.”

“It worries me,” Caitlyn confessed, glad that no one in her Council—or, Maker forbid, anyone outside it—was there to hear this. “Maybe this makes me as naïve as Viscount Dumar was, but I guess a part of me hoped that she would settle into a quiet, retired life in Starkhaven, advising Sebastian, which seemed to be all that she cared about in Kirkwall anyway.”

“Don’t compare yourself to Viscount Dumar,” Anders said with a dark chuckle. He put an arm gently around her back. “It goes to show, though, that she did care about something else. She cared a lot more about protecting the status quo against mages than she wanted people to realize.”

“She isn’t going quietly into the night in her exile,” Caitlyn agreed, “and is probably plotting a comeback. I’m taking it as a given that she communicates with the Chantry officials who are against Justinia. If one of them, whoever they are, should replace Justinia... Maker forbid... then I’m sure that person would declare Elthina innocent after all.”

“She communicates with them, and, I would guess, Meredith. That’s more immediately dangerous.”

She fell silent. That was true, and she did not know what to do about it.

* * *

The date of Caitlyn’s departure for Ferelden had arrived, and with it, mixed feelings on her part. It was the first time she would be away from Mal since the mission to deal with Corypheus, and this would be longer. He was in good hands, of course, and he was older, so although he was visibly sad and anxious the day of her departure, he was not crying and clinging to her legs as he might have been as a very young child. _That is a good thing,_ Caitlyn told herself as she prepared that day, _but it’s yet another reminder that he is growing up and those days are gone. I hope that the Grey Wardens can develop a cure for infertility before it’s too late for us...._ She instantly chastised herself for that thought; she was just twenty-eight years old next month. _I feel older,_ she thought. _My life has not been easy for the past eight years, and it won’t be easy ever again now. But I am not nearly so old that I have to worry that the natural clock is running out on me._

She had decided to appoint Anders as Regent in her absence, rather than devolving power entirely to the Small Council. Better for them to have a clear, unambiguous authority, rather than to potentially bicker among themselves for power even for a mere fortnight, she had reasoned. No one would question her choice of her own husband for that role, thereby preventing ill feeling among the Council if she had picked someone else—not to mention that it would be a public humiliation to Anders that he did not deserve. While she was outside Kirkwall, he would have the authority to act with the full power of a viscount himself. Varric had seemed uneasy about her decision for some reason, but he had not questioned her about it.

As she prepared to board the ship of state, she turned to her family, tears suddenly springing to her eyes as she looked from Anders to Mal to her mother. They had hugged her repeatedly in private before she left the Keep, and she knew that there were stupid expectations about a head of state not showing too much vulnerability of emotion, but she still wished she could hug them all once more. She certainly felt plenty of emotions. _I am representing my city and forging an alliance that might prove to be crucial for Kirkwall’s independence, let alone for mage rights and the well-being of my own family,_ she thought. _I am going to my birth country for the first time in years, setting foot on soil that I last walked upon while in the depths of grief and anger. I am going to be away from my family and friends for two weeks. I’m going to go before the King, Queen, and nobles of Ferelden to convince them to ally with Kirkwall. An audience with the King and Queen—what an elevation for a Lothering farm girl and secret apostate! But I am their equal now... and I don’t even know what emotion I am feeling about that!_

“Come back soon, Mother,” Mal urged her, breaking her moment of contemplation. His eyes were wide and earnest. Behind him, Anders smiled encouragingly at her and placed a hand on their son’s shoulder.

“I’m so proud,” Leandra whispered.

“I have all the faith in the world in you,” Anders said. “This may be your first big test, but you’ll get that alliance. And Kirkwall will be in good hands while you are gone, I promise.” He gave her a final smile.

Caitlyn returned the smile and glanced down. Baldwin, her mabari, wagged his tail at her, seemingly aware that he was going on a visit to his homeland. It was unconventional, but she knew that he would get a very positive reaction in Ferelden that could only help. She bade them farewell and boarded her ship.

* * *

Rather than docking in one of the ports along the Waking Sea, the ship took the longer journey to Denerim—although the trip overland probably would have taken even longer, Caitlyn supposed. In any case, there was no choice; she had to make her official appearance in the capital city. She openly carried her most ornate staff on her back, a fire staff topped with a ferocious wyvern. She thought a dragon would be more appropriate, but then, that would heavily recall magisters of the Old Imperium, who worshiped dragon gods. At least Baldwin yipped and pranced happily beside her as she disembarked. She hoped that with the dog’s cheerful presence, she would be impressive without being menacing and alien. The staff who greeted her and assisted her from her ship were pleased to see a mabari, and visibly relaxed at his presence, further boosting her confidence.

“Your Grace,” said a well-armored knight, “welcome to Ferelden. Their Majesties await an audience with you and have bade me to show you to your quarters in the Royal Palace.” He smiled at Baldwin. “We did not realize that you would bring your mabari, Your Grace, but fortunately, this _is_ Ferelden, so he will be accommodated too!”

* * *

Caitlyn had the opportunity to freshen up and get used to being on solid ground again before meeting the King and Queen. As she did, she reflected on what she knew of the political situation of Ferelden. Some of her knowledge was quite recent, a rushed study since becoming Viscountess. _King Alistair is said to be a jovial man, and a retired Grey Warden, so he might be inclined to back me because of Anders. But Queen Anora, I gather, is the real power, shrewd and pragmatic. At least I have ample experience working with women leaders like that! I am rather like that myself, in fact._

There were two teyrnirs, Highever and Gwaren, ruled by Fergus Cousland and Cauthrien Mac Tir, who had been chosen after her marriage to Warden Loghain. There had once been five arls, whereas now there were but three. The King and Queen held Denerim directly, on the basis that Alistair was a descendant of Calenhad and Denerim had been Calenhad’s city. The Warden-Commander held the power of Arlessa of Amaranthine. Caitlyn hoped to meet Elissa Cousland at last. She was Carver’s commander, but Caitlyn had never spoken to her. _I owe her so much,_ she thought. _She saved Anders from the Templars and then sent him to me... though she did not realize it at the time. I still have my family because Anders was there. I certainly owe him for the peace he gave us by being with Father at the last and bringing Bethany’s ashes to us. And if I meet Lady Cousland, I wonder if I will see Carver while I am here._ They had seen each other recently, but she would like to see him again. She was not afraid that Lady Cousland would be jealous of her over Leliana; that was long past.

A castle servant gingerly knocked on the door. Caitlyn finished the last of her tea and bade her enter, sure that it was time for the audience. She was right.

* * *

Caitlyn and her dog were shown to the Little Audience Chamber, where the King and Queen waited. As she entered the chamber, she noted that Anora’s blonde hair was styled into an elaborate pair of coiled braids, which was imposing. Caitlyn had let hers flow down her back except for a pair of braids circling behind her head and meeting in the middle, Anders’ favorite. It was pretty but not aloof. Well... there was nothing to be done now.

It was the King who broke the tension as the two powerful women, Queen and Viscountess, sized each other up. “Your Grace!” he welcomed warmly. “Welcome to Ferelden! And what a fine mabari you have.” His face waxed nostalgic. “I’ve tried for years to imprint. I envy you.”

Caitlyn smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “It is a pleasure to meet you both. This is Baldwin”—the dog barked happily at the sound of his name—“and you mustn’t blame yourself. Imprinting requires the right dog for a person. Perhaps you just haven’t met that dog yet.”

“That’s what the kennelmasters say,” Alistair agreed. “I hope someday... but who’s a good boy?” he cooed at Baldwin.

Anora smiled tolerantly as her husband played with the dog and Caitlyn took a seat across from the royal couple. Caitlyn wondered for a moment what kind of marriage they had. She knew that it had been a political arrangement set up by Lady Cousland to bring peace—and because Cousland did not want to be queen herself, no real surprise given her apparent romantic attractions—but Alistair, at least, seemed reasonably happy and content. It was harder to say about Anora. She was an aloof, private person, so said every source that Caitlyn had read or asked.

The Queen spoke. “I hope that you have found everything as it should be, Your Grace,” she said.

Caitlyn reassured her at once that she had.

“I am glad. It is not often that foreign heads of state visit Ferelden, and you do us honor by asking for an alliance. I must warn you, though... you will need to convince more than the Royal Council.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many of the nobility have been alarmed about the Qunari attack that your city suffered. There were calls for a Landsmeet to discuss how to protect Ferelden from Qunari aggression, and... well, I do not suppose this is a secret to _you,_ but also what to do about the mounting division within the Chantry.”

Caitlyn took that in. “Allying with a Kirkwall under my leadership is taking a very clear side in that conflict,” she said slowly, “but it is also the side that the Divine supports, we think. The northern clerics and Prince Sebastian are harboring a traitor and undermining Divine Justinia with their actions.”

Anora nodded. “That is our position as well, but it will be controversial. There are many who are frightened of taking bold action. It will seem radical. With all due respect, some of the more provincial banns see  _you_ as radical.”

“I suppose I am at that!” Caitlyn said. “But I do hope they will listen to me about the Qunari. I have some useful advice to offer about that threat, though I hope that the remaining Qunari leaders pick a new Arishok who won’t do something so rash. We haven’t had threats of retaliation from them, at least. They might want to distance themselves from his action. But the Qun _is_ an ideology that mandates conquest, so Ferelden is right to seek strong defenses.”

“There was a Qunari who went about with us during the Blight,” Alistair chimed in. “He left for his homeland. He said he was gathering information about the Blight for his people, but we think, now, that he was also gathering information about Ferelden.” He sighed. “I wonder what happened to him. Anyway. Everyone ought to hear what you have to say about them, given what happened in Kirkwall and what you did!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“We are tentatively inclined to agree to an alliance between Ferelden and Kirkwall—provided that you and your allies continue to hold it,” Anora said.

Caitlyn grimaced inwardly at that dark stipulation, but she supposed Anora had a point; Kirkwall’s recent political history was extremely turbulent, with no regime lasting very long. Anora knew, too, that the Chantry reactionaries were against Caitlyn, and that Knight-Commander Meredith had assassinated a Viscount before. She took a deep breath and faced the King and Queen. “I am here to secure alliances that will help me to do exactly that,” she said pointedly, “but we do have important advantages already. I was chosen by a moot of high nobles with no opponent. I have support from both the nobles and the common people, who see me as a hero. The new Grand Cleric is friendly to me, as is the Divine, so I am told by one close to her.”

Anora was surprised by that; apparently Elissa Cousland had not told her that Leliana was a correspondent of Caitlyn’s. “That is good to hear,” she said. “That relieves me. In that case, we should discuss the finer details of this proposed alliance: matters such as mutual defense, trade deals, and, of course, the situation of Fereldan refugees who live in Kirkwall.”

 _She isn’t asking for Mal’s hand,_ Caitlyn thought. She had worried about that on the ship and had not intended to allow it. She knew that Mal’s friends would be the children of nobles from now on, but she was determined that he would choose among them for himself years later. If the subject came up, she had intended to claim that there would be pressure for him to marry into a Kirkwall family since he had only one Kirkwaller grandparent. However, they had not asked at all. _Why not? Is it because Anders is a mage too and therefore they assume, correctly, that our child is one, and they don’t want that here? Or... is it because they have no hope that they will have a child or that we will have more?_ Her heart sank at that thought. _Or do Fereldans just like their rulers to marry other Fereldans, too? Since the Orlesians were defeated, all three kings have been married to Fereldan noblewomen. Maybe that is all it is. And after all, Anders still has hope, and if the Warden research looked hopeless, Lady Cousland would tell him that._

She brought her thoughts back to the moment. “Some of the refugees have created lives for themselves in Kirkwall,” she said. “Others have struggled and might want to return. I’m willing to negotiate arranging that.”  _Kirkwall is not going to foot the entire cost of a return trip,_ she thought determinedly.  _Not when the reason they—we—left is because Ferelden couldn’t secure the safety of its own people during the Blight!_

Anora managed a wry smile. “Then let us discuss the details of the alliance plan. It will still need to be placed before the Landsmeet, of course.”

“But it makes it easier to have a real, defined proposal to accept or reject,” she said. “They won’t be debating a shadow; they’ll be debating an agreement that has specific terms. Yes. Let’s discuss.”

* * *

_The day of the Landsmeet._

The nobles stood alertly in the Landsmeet chamber as Fergus Cousland, Cauthrien Mac Tir, and Elissa Cousland debated coastal fortifications and naval improvements to defend the port cities. It was a fair concern; the Qunari had entered Kirkwall from the sea. The greatest difficulty was that no one had a defense against the Qunari explosives. Elissa Cousland was calling openly to use magic, which made Caitlyn happy.

She still had not had the opportunity to be formally introduced to the Warden-Commander, though she expected that to come soon. Carver  _was_ there, though he would not stand beside his sister, preferring to be with Nathaniel Howe and the other Grey Wardens who were there. Caitlyn herself had already spoken before the Fereldans on her experience defeating the Qunari, though the King and Queen had not yet revealed the full purpose of her visit.

Anora, speaking for Denerim, entered the discussion. “The fact is that we do not bring in enough coin either to pay for a doubling of our navy  _or_ to pay privateers to fight for us,” she said. “If we want more ships, the Crown must raise taxes. But now is the right time. We are recovering at last, as is the land; now is the time to spend more—so long as we spend  _wisely.”_

Caitlyn, of course, had no vote as to whether to raise taxes or how to do increased maritime defense, but she observed as the bickering nobles—most of the complainers, she noted, were from the landlocked Bannorn—grudgingly voted in favor of a slight hike to pay for letters of marque for privateers.

Alistair had stayed out of the debate, and it was clear to Caitlyn that he detested Landsmeets and wanted this one over soon. They had not even come to an agreement about the Chantry, except that Ferelden would not be supporting the northern Marcher defiance and would back Divine Justinia if anyone challenged her openly. There was no vote on calling for the Fereldan Grand Cleric to increase freedoms for mages, and there were many extremely provincial banns who distrusted apostates. Caitlyn carried her wyvern staff and wore her dramatic, powerful red and black gown, and these banns were giving her dark looks. Even her Fereldan blood and birth, even Baldwin’s presence beside her, did not persuade these people.

At last the King spoke again, the chamber quieting as he did. “We now come to our final order of business,” he said. “Our guest is with us today not just to speak of the Qunari. I’ll let her speak for herself. Fereldans, Viscountess Hawke of Kirkwall.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath and ascended to the podium, Baldwin walking beside her, his tail wagging and his mouth open endearingly. She gazed out at the assembled nobles. It was one thing to speak of her experiences fighting the Qunari. It was another entirely to ask a roomful of foreign lords for support.

Just as her fear almost overtook her, her eyes caught other faces. Carver stood with the Wardens, a little annoyed that his overachieving older sister had managed to inject herself even into Fereldan business—but that was familiar and comforting in its own way, and she knew that he really did want the country to support her. She glanced at Elissa Cousland, whose sharp gaze returned her own.  _Thank you,_ she thought in a flash. She owed this woman her family, and she meant to tell her that once she had a moment after the Landsmeet. And to Caitlyn’s left, Alistair clearly supported her, and although she was aloof and formal, so did Anora. That counted for a lot.

“Your Royal Highnesses, lords and ladies of Ferelden,” Caitlyn began. “I come before you today to offer a military and economic alliance between Ferelden and Kirkwall. It would be an alliance of mutual advantage,” she said, her voice getting louder as a few banns muttered among themselves. “You have voted today to enhance your naval defenses and coastal fortifications. This alliance would bolster those defenses even more. Highever is nearer to Kirkwall than to any Fereldan city. With distance on our side, the combined forces of the Coastlands and Kirkwall could control the Waking Sea. It would be within our power, for instance, to levy duties on ships that used this passage for trade, and it could grind piracy in the area to a halt.”

That got their interest. Most trade between Antiva and western nations passed between the coasts, the ships usually docking in Kirkwall or a Fereldan port to replenish supplies. Neither Kirkwall nor Ferelden had ever tried to tax these ships for using the trade route, because they knew that the merchants would simply give their business to the state that did not. With Kirkwall and Ferelden as economic allies rather than competitors, that danger would be eliminated. Caitlyn knew that the rich trading countries would not like this, as it would mean an increase in the cost of luxury goods—but she did not much care. Nonetheless, she knew that if Ferelden agreed to her alliance, word of this would quickly reach Antiva, Orlais, and Nevarra. She had to suggest some reason why the other allies she sought should back her, and a sharp decrease in piracy would more than make up for the tax.

“There are farms outside the city walls under Kirkwall’s protection, but beyond that is desolate desert. We import Fereldan food as well as other goods, and I am prepared to offer an extremely preferential trade agreement for your chief exports as a part of my proposed alliance.”

The rural Bannorn was the biggest beneficiary of this, and Caitlyn was sure she had won them over with it. Even the ones who disliked her for being a mage were pleased at the prospect of more coin for their exports.

Now came the harder sell.

“In the proposal, Ferelden’s defense responsibility to Kirkwall would entail the military support of the Fereldan navy in the event of a naval attack on Kirkwall, and a company of soldiers if Kirkwall is attacked by land. In return, Kirkwall would pledge mutual defense to Ferelden. This, I should note, now includes magical defense. The Grand Cleric of Kirkwall has authorized mages of the Circle who are good at battlemagic to join the City Guard. As you saw during the Battle of Denerim, and we saw during the Qunari attack, a few mages can make a great difference. You will have mage support from Kirkwall if you are ever attacked.” She wanted to pledge the Templars of Kirkwall as well, but that was too unsettled yet, with the power struggle between Petrice and Meredith. _Someday, perhaps,_ she thought. She faced the Landsmeet again. “This is my proposal. I would remind all of you, too, that I was born in Ferelden. I have no desire to draw up a plan that would harm the country of my birth. It is an offer I make in good faith, but it is now your decision as to whether to take it. I yield.”

A storm of noise broke out among the nobles at once as they clamored to respond, but Alistair and Anora took the podium again to call for order. “We will hear your questions in order of precedence,” said Alistair firmly.

Teyrna Cauthrien was the highest-ranking noble with a question. Even as a civilian now, she wore plate armor, her famous Summer Sword strapped to her back. She rose and began to speak. “I see the economic advantages of the Viscountess’s deal,” she said, “but I have concerns about the military side. It is widely known that the Viscountess seeks an alliance with Orlais as well. What if  _Orlais_ attacks Ferelden? Will Kirkwall still take our side? And this is no idle fear. Orlais lurches toward civil war. Recolonizing Ferelden would be something that the contenders could propose to gain support in the masked empire. Where will Kirkwall stand if that happens?”

Caitlyn supposed she should have expected this. In the corner, with the other Wardens, her husband Loghain, the old war horse, glowered in mistrust. Cauthrien clearly shared his fears, and from the rumbles in the chamber, they had the support of a number of banns. She noticed, with some dismay, that Bann Delilah Howe of Amaranthine City appeared to agree with Cauthrien.

Caitlyn stepped forward to answer her. “I do not  _yet_ have an alliance with Orlais,” she said, “and I give you my solemn word that I will have no terms in any alliance that allow an attack on my other allies to go unanswered.” Comte de Launcet was already on his way to Val Royeaux, but he had left knowing full well that she was going to Ferelden, and she had given him instructions on what kind of terms she hoped for from the Empress. She stepped back.

Anora spoke up. “It is our view  that Celene is not seeking to invade Ferelden. She has played games before, but it has not been her way to use the military to garner support. Her cousin, Gaspard de Chalons, is the real threat to us. If anything, Ferelden should consider supporting Celene if war erupts in Orlais, to help prevent that outcome!”

Caitlyn was shocked that the careful, deliberate Queen Anora would make such an explosive suggestion—and when the Landsmeet broke out in chatter, Anora realized her own mistake. “I am not proposing this as an order of business today. Obviously, that is a monumental change in policy that would merit serious debate. I merely say it to support the notion that the Kirkwall alliance does not open us up to Orlesian attack, because the current leader of Orlais does not seek to attack us anyway.”

“All our diplomatic dealings with Celene have been quite ordinary,” Alistair added. “She seems to have given up any ambition of reclaiming Ferelden, focusing instead on supporting the arts and the University of Orlais to gain favor with her people.”

Teyrna Cauthrien did not look entirely satisfied, but she could not argue against that. Caitlyn supposed that the Orlais skeptics for whom she spoke, veterans of the Rebellion, had reason for their mistrust of the old enemy. It was rather like Anders’ inveterate mistrust of Templars. He had reason, too.

Arl Teagan of Redcliffe then rose. He gazed at Caitlyn in preemptive apology, and she wondered what he was going to say that warranted that. She did not have to wait long.

“Let me preface my remarks with the disclaimer that I mean no personal offense to our honored guest, the Viscountess,” he said, “but I have to speak my mind on this point. As you all know, my nephew Connor is a mage, and during the Blight, he was the victim of a demon that used him to wreak carnage on Redcliffe. My sister-in-law, the late Arlessa Isolde, gave her life to save his, and my brother, the former Arl Eamon, has been retired ever since. The castle staff were slaughtered, and the village population was decimated. All this, because a mother could not bear to see her mage son trained properly. Your Grace,” he said to Caitlyn, pain in his eyes, “I am not speaking against you or your family. But the doors that you are opening with your ascension.... I know why you seek this alliance. You anticipate that Kirkwall will need support if Starkhaven and Tantervale act against you for being a mage. That is what it is about. Fereldans, please consider if you truly want to take this side. We did not vote on the ‘mage issue’ today, but if we ally with Viscountess Hawke, we will have effectively taken that vote.”

Caitlyn was exasperated, but she tried to control her temper. The arl’s concerns were sincerely felt, and the Redcliffe disaster must have been traumatic. But her view was that his fears were misplaced.

“Arl Teagan,” she said as warmly as she could manage, “I offer my sincere condolences to your family, even years late. It must have been terrible. But I would reassure you that the changes my husband, my Kirkwall allies, and I seek would not open the door for more Redcliffes. You say that it happened because a mother could not bear to see her mage son trained properly, but what the arlessa actually could not bear was the prospect of seeing her son taken away from her for the rest of her life,” she said pointedly. “And _have_ you seen him since he went to the Circle, my lord? Has your lord brother?”

Teagan glanced at the ground uncomfortably.

“The arlessa would not have feared revealing that he was a mage if she could have been assured that the family could visit him at the Circle and he could return when he was finished training... or that Enchanters could come to Redcliffe to teach him. But both of those options were closed to her, as they are to all parents of mages. _That_ is what my friends and I seek to change. We recognize that mages need training. I myself was taught well by my late father, a former Enchanter of the Circle. What we want to change is the policy of needless cruelty that destroys families for life unless they become apostates—or are _very_ fortunate, as my husband and I have been, to become a Grey Warden and be declared free by a Grand Cleric respectively. _That_ fear, a parent’s fear of losing her child, is what caused the disaster at Redcliffe.”

Teagan sighed heavily, but he could not dispute her point.

Alistair looked out at the crowd for more questions, but there were none. “Anyone else who has a concern, speak now or forever hold your peace,” he declared. “Otherwise, we vote.”

* * *

The vote carried, though there were numerous grumbling dissensions. At last, the entire Royal Council—the six nobles higher in rank than bann—voted for the alliance, even Cauthrien and Teagan. Caitlyn was thrilled; it meant that she had become quite good at persuasion. Her heart soared at the idea that she might be able to effect the changes she wanted without further bloodshed.

After the Landsmeet, the Crown held a leaving feast. As a foreign dignitary, she was seated with them, but Elissa Cousland quickly made her way to the head table afterward, practically dragging Carver with her.

“Well done,” Carver grunted. He gave Baldwin a pat. It was difficult for him to say, but Caitlyn could tell that he really was glad that this had worked out. He gazed at her. “I guess I’ll never live up to you now.”

“Oh, Carver,” she exclaimed in mild exasperation. “You are a Grey Warden. You don’t have to live up to _anyone.”_

“Well said,” Elissa Cousland chimed in.

“I know that. Most people see it differently, though.”

Elissa raised her eyebrows in amusement. Caitlyn realized that she likely had ample experience with sibling rivalry herself, and she probably was not put off by Carver’s blatant aggression toward his regal sister, because she undoubtedly had a history—maybe even a present—of speaking the same way to her brother, the Teyrn of Highever.

Carver quickly made himself scarce, eager to return to his Warden friends, leaving the two women alone. Caitlyn glanced around to be sure that no one was eavesdropping before saying, in a near-whisper, “Thank you so much. For everything.”

Elissa smiled mildly. “I was only doing what I thought was right.” Guilt filled her grey-blue eyes. “To be honest, when I sent Anders to Kirkwall, I believed that....” She broke off.

“That the rest of my family had perished. Or... worse. You had reason to. But you still showed mercy to him, and because of that, so many good things have happened in our lives. You know that Carver is alive, and a Warden, because Anders was there. He also saved my mother, and might have saved our son. And because of you, our son is growing up knowing his father.”

“Family is so very important,” Elissa agreed, her eyes filled with emotion. “I did not know that I was doing this much for you, of course. I just wanted Anders to find peace in life. Leliana... you know her, of course—”

Caitlyn tried not to flush faintly. Yes, Elissa knew everything... but it seemed that, indeed, she was not troubled by it.

“—would say that it was the grace of the Maker. Maybe she is right. Myself, I’m not comfortable believing that the Maker plays favorites. Too many innocents did lose everything, no offense....”

“None taken. I see it the same way,” Caitlyn assured her.

Elissa breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, whatever it was, whether luck or the Maker, I am just glad that my decision had such positive ripple effects. And I got a greatsword-wielding Warden out of it myself.” She smirked.

“Is there any hope for... a potion?” Caitlyn said very quietly.

She did not have to elaborate. Elissa glanced around quickly before replying. “Anders has been sharing his letters with you. I’m not offended; I expected him to. Warden Avernus’s research continues apace. I will say no more now.”

In that moment, Caitlyn wanted to leap to the top of a mountain. Her heart was soaring with hope.

* * *

_Kirkwall, a week and a half earlier._

Caitlyn was not even in Ferelden yet, but Anders missed her already. _This is going to be a long fortnight,_ he thought unhappily, _especially since being Regent is actually... rather boring. She has set everything important in motion herself, and the Small Council members handle their own responsibilities. I have little to do except the duties she gave me the day she was crowned._

He chastised himself for thinking this. A dull job meant that he had time to be with Mal, to teach him magic, and increasingly to talk to him as a father to a son about life. He regretted missing Mal’s babyhood and always would, but there were benefits to having an older child, too. A smile formed on his face at this reflection. Yes, perhaps having a boring regency wasn’t so bad.

“My lord!”

_And... now I am interrupted. It figures,_ he thought wryly, admitting the Keep servant. He accepted the scroll, dismissed the man, and read it. It was from Ser Thrask. As he read, his good feeling was rapidly displaced entirely, replaced by a surging inferno of anger that burned hotter with every word.

 

_....the radical sect, led by Otto Alrik, believes that the only way mages can have the Maker’s grace is by the Rite of Tranquility, and seek to use it on every mage in Thedas...._

 

Anders had known for years that a faction of Templars existed that believed this, but even so,  _reading_ about it—and Alrik was the one who tried to kill children, one of the ones that Ser Thrask had warned them about. He continued to read, even as he felt the spirit within him awaken.

 

_....strong evidence that Alrik has not only performed the Rite of Tranquility after the Grand Cleric banned it, but that he was the Templar who performed the Rite on Karl Thekla...._

 

Anders felt sparks pop behind his eyes. He tried to keep Justice from taking him over, and succeeded—if barely—as he rolled up the scroll. _I am the Regent of Kirkwall. I have the full powers of the ruler for now. Caitlyn will not be back for almost two weeks. This cannot wait for her return. That bastard has already defied the new edict. He will do it again. I cannot wait. Other mages cannot wait. And Karl, rest his soul, has waited too long._

He stormed from the office, finding Aveline and Varric in consultation. “What in the Void is the matter?” the dwarf exclaimed.

He handed the scroll over without a word. They read it together, eyes widening. “Anders,” Varric said carefully, returning it to him, “are you sure you want to deal with this now? Shouldn’t you wait for Hawke to return?”

“She named me Regent,” he replied. “She gave me full, absolute authority to act. I think, now, that it happened for a reason—and _this_ is that reason. Please, keep Mal busy. He doesn’t need to be present for this.”

“For what? What do you mean to do?”

He was already storming toward the doors that led to the outer Keep when Varric finished the question. Turning around, he stared at them, feeling anger fill every part of his body—but also righteous satisfaction, which gave him a prideful thrill up his spine as he answered.  _“Justice.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was a nice, nostalgic, feel-good chapter and that you enjoyed the snapshots of so many of the _DA:O_ and fanfic favorites. But as the viewpoint shift indicated, things may be going a bit differently in Kirkwall....


	13. Something’s Taking Over Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is “Possession” by Otep.
> 
>  **Warning: Graphic violence and torture.** This chapter is the reason for the archive warning. In addition... well, I can’t say too much without spoiling it, but one particular aspect is Vengeance’s idea, not Anders’, and you’ll know what I mean.

Anders tried to keep his anger somewhat in check as he stormed from his private office, Varric and Aveline following close behind, the scroll from Ser Thrask in one hand. He felt the surge of Fade energy repeatedly as Justice tried to seize control and handle this himself, but Anders knew, as angry as he was, he could not actually confront Meredith—or, for that matter, tell the Grand Cleric—with a Fade spirit in control of his body.

He had slammed the doors open to the outer Keep, relishing the loud echo that sounded like the tolling of a great bell, when he heard yet more voices. Anders attempted to compose himself, breathing heavily through his nose as the people who were talking approached. As they did, he could better make out what they were saying—and it quickly became, again, all that he could do not to burst into a rage that would give control to his spirit.

“Your Highness, Her Grace is not here,” explained a man hurriedly. Aveline looked up in surprise at the voice, and Anders was sure he recognized it too. “I might advise you to wait for Regent Anders to see you....”

“Regent Anders?” exclaimed the other person, deeply disapproving.

“Yes, Highness. She has authorized him to act for her in all things. I trust that the Regent can see you for your business just as well as the Viscountess....”

“But where is she? How long will she be gone?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Highness.”

At this, Anders and his two companions rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Donnic Hendyr and Prince Sebastian.

Anders thought he had recognized that Starkhaven accent, and he could not account for who else might merit the title of “Highness.” He was furious and impatient, but not _surprised,_ by whom he saw. He halted in his tracks and glared at the prince. “What in the Void are _you_ doing here?” he snarled.

Affronted, Sebastian drew back, a scowl appearing on his face. “I came to see the Viscountess to sue for a truce, in fact,” he said.

Anders barked a cynical laugh. “Then you brought Elthina, and she has already been taken into custody? Because there will be no truce while she is free to spread her lies, conspire with Maker knows whom from afar, and undermine Cai—the Viscountess.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed even further. “Grand Cleric Elthina—”

Donnic, Aveline, and Varric all glowered at these words, and Anders interrupted him at once. “She is no such thing. She is not even a priest now. She is nothing but a traitor who escaped from the Kirkwall jail to avoid justice.”

“What is the matter with you and Ha—the Viscountess?” Sebastian burst out, sounding entitled and angry but sincere in his way. “You got what you wanted! You got your own ally as Kirkwall’s Grand Cleric, and you now live in the Keep and rule the city. You won your Game, yet you still insist on having Elthina. Why? This seems to me little but vengeance because she fought against your efforts to remove her.”

Anders tried to hide his dark smile as he replied. “Vengeance? No, justice. You truly think it was nothing but the Great Game, apparently, and that after we ‘won,’ we would drop the ‘pretense’ otherwise. It wasn’t. We weren’t lying. She is guilty of a crime against Kirkwall, and more importantly, she is undermining the new ruler with the venom she spreads to her agents and supporters here.” He stepped forward. “I don’t have time for this. As the guard told you, I am in charge of the city while the Viscountess is abroad—yes, you heard right,” he said pointedly as Sebastian’s eyes widened, taking in the implication of that—that she was seeking an alliance. “These are my terms, and I’m positive that she would say the same thing. If you want us even to _consider_ a truce, hand over Elthina first.”

“Elthina is not in Starkhaven,” Sebastian said, coldness suddenly entering his words, “and I cannot produce her even if I wished to.”

“Which you don’t,” Anders sneered. “Very well. She is in Tantervale, then, assuming you are telling the truth. It’s not hard to deduce. But as I just said, I have more important things to worry about right this second. Ser Donnic,” he said, “give him a room, if he wishes to wait until she returns... but don’t let him leave it.”

“Are you taking me prisoner?” the prince burst out.

Anders had not intended that, but as soon as he realized that Sebastian was fearful and indignant at the idea, he instantly resolved to let him wonder—and worry. He strode off without another word.

* * *

They quickly brought Mal to the Amell house to visit with his grandmother and relatives, allowing him to take Pounce with him as well. He missed his mother and her dog, and Anders felt bad about pushing his son on the extended family like this rather than spending time with him himself—but a not-quite-seven-year-old had no business witnessing what he was sure was about to happen. They had turned toward the Gallows when a man stepped out of a shadowed alley. It was Thrask.

“Your Grace,” he said to Anders. “I see that you got my message.”

“We are on our way to take care of the problem,” Anders said, “unless you have more to say now?”

“I do,” the Templar said grimly. “Alrik is not at the Gallows right now. He and a large party of... associates... who I believe are conspirators with him and longtime allies on the subject of the ‘Tranquil Solution,’ as they call it—”

Anders was glowering at this term, and trying hard not to _glow_ as well. Justice was going to burst out before this was over, he was increasingly sure.

“—have entered the tunnels that connect to Darktown to try to pursue a mage. She wished to visit her family, as the Grand Cleric recently allowed, but Alrik denied her request. She fled anyway rather than appeal to the Knight-Commander. If he catches her....”

“Then we don’t have a moment to lose,” Anders declared. “I know the tunnels you’re talking about. Yes, of course I do,” he added for the benefit of Aveline and Donnic, whose eyebrows all flew up. Varric was unsurprised. “That cannot be a surprise to anyone. Come on. We have to stop them!”

“How large is this party?” Aveline asked Thrask as they headed quickly for the nearest entrance to Darktown. “We might need more guards!”

“Surely they won’t put up a fight against the Regent and Guard-Captain,” Donnic said.

Anders peered blackly at him, shaking his head, ready to believe the worst of any Templars who liked using the Rite of Tranquility on mages. “They won’t respect _me_ at all,” he said, “but we don’t have time to return to the Keep to get more guards. We’ll have to make do.”

* * *

The group descended deeper and deeper into the bowels of Kirkwall, where even the shabby, deteriorating, dust-laden structure of Darktown gave way to caves and raw tunnels with only the barest of wooden platforms and rustic steps to aid foot traffic. Every now and then, a body or a skeleton was shoved into a corner, usually picked clean of anything valuable by the smugglers that trafficked in these tunnels. Some of the remains were covered in bloodstained mage robes. These tunnels were used by the Mage Underground, the network that spirited apostates out of the city, but the risk of running into violent criminal smugglers was ever-present for desperate mages. As Anders advanced, leading the group, he felt his rage stir even more at the sight of a small robed body, broken and mummified, thrown away like so much trash. _A mage child,_ he thought in fury as he hurried along, _taken from his family, perhaps. He fled for a reason. Abuse? Fear? Or did he just want to see his family again, like I did for so many years? And this is all the life he had. No doubt his parents think him safe in the Circle even now, since the Templars tell families nothing. He couldn’t have been but three or so years older than my own son...._ Thoughts of Mal came unbidden and unwanted, and he tried to push them aside before fury—and Justice—overtook him.

Thoughts of Karl came to his mind instead. Those were much harder to push aside. _She told me once that he knew what a loving relationship was because of me,_ he thought, _and because of that, I’ve made peace with the fact that he never truly had my heart, but I never avenged him. When we killed Rolan, we avenged Caitlyn. Although what happened to her family wasn’t as bad as I had feared, what did happen was Rolan’s fault. I never avenged Karl._

 _Caitlyn might never have said those awful things to me that night if Karl had not been destroyed. Justice wouldn’t have come out, surprising her, and she might have been able to come to terms with her guilt about resenting me, hating me, whatever it was, before her defenses flared up like they did so horribly that night. I could have sent him back to Ferelden, where maybe he would have joined the Wardens. This Templar took that away from all of us. This is the one who destroyed him. I had hoped that we had killed the one who did it that first night, but I suppose I always knew that we hadn’t. Justice must have known the truth, somehow._ He stared ahead as he passed through the tunnels. _His reign of terror and tyranny will come to an end at last._

Anders could feel the Fade tugging at his soul as righteous anger suffused him. Justice was very close to emerging, but at this point, Anders was so deeply immersed in a pool of outrage that he accepted it.

As the group rounded the corner, the desperate voice of a young female mage broke the grim silence. Her words rang through his mind, bringing all sorts of horrible memories back.

“I just wanted to see my mum!”

_A twelve-year-old boy cowered before a brawny armed man whose face was hidden by a helmet. “I just wanted to see my mum again. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to—”_

“Please. No one ever told her where they were taking me,” pleaded the mage girl.

 _The same boy, now a twenty-three-year-old man, wept under his covers at the thought of the family he had left. Did they—did_ she— _even know what had happened? Had they found Malcolm’s body and realized what it meant that he, Anders, wasn’t there? Did they know how much he wanted to get back to them, to go home, to offer what comfort he could?_

Anders was stricken for these flashbacks, his face drawn and lined. Even Justice was unable to act at the moment, so much had he changed and grown since merging with the mind and soul of a mortal person. He felt the pain too. But then, as the group of people came into view for Anders and his team, another voice filled the dank air that got Justice’s attention.

“You know what happens to mage girls who don’t toe the line around here, don’t you?”

Aveline, Donnic, Varric, and Thrask all drew their breath sharply. The words did not immediately register with Anders, but it only took a moment. In that moment, his team emerged through the last doorway, into the cave where a young olive-skinned mage cowered in terror and a bald, gray-bearded Templar smirked evilly over her. Several henchmen lurked behind him. Aveline’s sharp gaze darted across the room as she counted them. A whispered curse escaped her lips as she realized the numbers they faced.

“Please, no! Don’t make me Tranquil! I’ll do anything!”

Thrask glowered. “The mages still fear it, even now,” he muttered.

“That’s right,” Alrik said, leering. “Once you’re Tranquil, you’ll do anything I ask.”

The Fade energy that had been gnawing at Anders for the entire trek suddenly filled him as the full, despicable import of the Templar’s words hit him. _Justice, Vengeance, what does it matter in a case like this?_ he thought as the spirit took him over.

 _“I will kill every one of you!”_ he roared in the spirit’s voice. He formed a ball of magical energy at the end of his staff and hurled it at Alrik, heedless of the proximity of the young mage. The magical blast struck the Templar, who keeled over, twitching on the ground, as his henchmen quickly engaged the others in Anders’ group.

Donnic Hendyr and Thrask were startled at the sight of Anders as the Fade spirit acted through his body, but they had the sense and presence of mind not to become distracted. The two of them, and Aveline, exchanged sword blows with several of the Templars, and Varric sent crossbow bolts into the poorly armored legs of others, even as a Templar with two extremely sharp daggers bounded forward to try to take out Anders. Anders—Justice?—snarled in anger and sent another blast at this Templar. It struck, exploding the man’s midsection, sending a shower of blood and gore around the cave as his head and four limbs flew in separate directions.

Alrik was, alas, not dead; he apparently had better armor or more innate strength than his unfortunate soldier. At the sight of the bloody explosion, Alrik gaped in shock. The young mage was trying to scramble away from the fray, even as the dead man’s blood dripped from her hair.

His eyes glowing bluish-white, Anders turned to a corner where another dual-wielding hunter was about to leap at him. He blasted the Templar with the same spell, striking the man’s head directly this time. It burst like a ripe melon, covering the stone walls in red. The headless body sagged to the ground as streams of bloodied, sticky bone and brains trickled down the wall.

The sight of the Regent of Kirkwall, magically bonded with Maker knew what, blowing up his fellows with a single powerful blast, was too much for one of the Templars. _“Stand down!”_ shouted this man, throwing his sword to the ground in surrender.

“Are you mad?” roared Alrik, clanging his blade against Aveline’s.

“You think you stand a chance against _that?”_ At these words, several of the other Templars hesitated, and two more cast down their blades. Two more quickly followed suit, seeing that the fight was lost with so many of their side choosing to surrender.

Alrik growled in anger, but he saw the writing on the wall—or the blood—and finally cast his blade to the floor. He turned to Thrask. “You traitor,” he sneered. “You told them where to find us, no doubt.”

Thrask stared back unafraid. “You have violated the Grand Cleric’s order.”

“And committed other crimes!” roared Anders, who was still under the influence of Justice, even though the spirit was beginning to recede. “We should kill them now, every last one of them, despite their surrender!”

“Anders,” Aveline said in an undertone of warning. “You represent the law of Kirkwall now. You can’t do that.”

“They’re criminals and rapists!” Anders retorted. “They deserve death!”

Seeing the dissension, Alrik seized the advantage. “We have the right to take this before the Knight-Commander,” he said. He smiled evilly at his enemies. “We’ll see what _she_ has to say.”

Thrask looked appalled and shot an angry glare at Anders. “He’s right,” he said darkly, sheathing his sword. “Well done, _Regent.”_

“It’s not over,” Varric said in an undertone to Thrask. _“We_ can take it to the Grand Cleric.”

Relief filled Thrask’s face at this. “Very true.”

Anders took deep breaths as Justice ceded control of his body back to him. His eyes gleamed in anger, though it was his own now. He didn’t like the idea of Petrice ordering their deaths. _He_ should be the one to do that, not that shady, dubiously moral Orlesian manipulator who cared more about fighting non-Andrastians than she did about the suffering of mages. _I will do it,_ he vowed to himself as the others of the group began to round up the surviving Templars and disarm them entirely. _I will make bloody sure I do it._

The young mage who had almost suffered an unspeakable fate was cowering in a corner that had, somehow, not been touched by blood spray. She was whimpering and covering her head between her knees. Anders approached her hesitantly and touched her shoulder when he reached her.

She gazed up at him sharply and drew back, terrified, even though Justice no longer controlled him. “Stay away from me!” she exclaimed.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Anders said.

She backed against the wall, not trusting him. “What _was_ that?”

Anders closed his eyes momentarily. He couldn’t tell her the truth. It was unfortunate that Thrask and Donnic had seen it, let alone the loathsome Templars that they had just captured— _and that is another reason why they must die,_ he thought—but he could not tell this girl the truth. “Magic. A powerful spell to protect me,” he lied. He gazed at her. “Go to your mother. They undoubtedly have your phylactery at the Circle, but Ser Thrask and I will make sure nothing happens to you. You have the right to visit her. And after that... if you can heal or fight, you have a way to leave the Gallows.”

The girl got to her feet, gave him one last look of mixed fear and gratitude, and dashed away.

Donnic had been collecting the Templars’ weapons in a leather bag, searching them for anything they might have concealed in their armor. With Alrik’s hands cuffed behind his back, the guard withdrew a short, runed, gleaming sheathed knife and a stubby little object that vaguely resembled a sceptre in miniature. The round end of it was inscribed with the sunburst symbol. Donnic could sense something odd about these implements, but he decided not to handle them, as they were clearly magical in some way. Better to leave them for Ser Thrask—or Anders.

* * *

Anders stormed into the Knight-Commander’s office. Meredith got to her feet at once, glowering in anger at the mere sight of him—especially when she saw half a dozen of her Templars, including one of her favorites, bound and disarmed. Varric had gone to the Chantry to find the Grand Cleric, and Thrask had gone off to fill out official paperwork to authorize the young mage to visit her family, to account for her absence. He had also seemed reluctant to face the Knight-Commander after this, and although Anders viewed that as cowardice, he nonetheless did not want to endanger such a useful ally among the Templars. If not for Thrask’s information, the mage they had saved today would no longer be a mage, and Alrik and his hangers-on would be free to mutilate and rape more mages.

“What is the meaning of this?” Meredith demanded. “How dare you bind and disarm Templars? You have no authority to interfere in the Circle.”

Anders glared back. “These Templars have defied the Grand Cleric’s edict banning the Rite of Tranquility in Kirkwall.”

“Oh, have they? How do you know that?”

“We have reports that they used it after she banned it, and we caught them in the act of threatening a mage with it!”

Meredith sneered. “Reports, no doubt from mage sympathizers. You have no proof that they did it after the Orlesian banned it, and apparently, they did not manage to do it to the mage you _claim_ that they threatened.”

“What did I tell you?” Anders said as an aside to the others. He turned back to her. “We trust the source of the report, and we _saw_ them threatening a mage of this Circle who was exercising her right to see her family. They will face justice for what they have done, and you cannot shield them.”

“This is a Templar matter, and I shall investigate the allegations myself. Go back to your ill-gotten Keep, mage, and take the guards with you. This does not concern any of you.”

“But it does concern _me.”_

Anders, Aveline, and Donnic whirled around. Varric was back, and beside him was Petrice, full of indignation.

“This Alrik and the others have blatantly defied me, most likely with _your_ awareness and tacit approval,” she said angrily.

“Excuse me?” Meredith snapped. “You have no evidence that—”

“I overheard you. You intend to cover for them. That is the purpose of your ‘investigation.’ It has been investigated quite enough, I should say! They were caught in the act of threatening to perform the Rite illegally!”

“You banned it for the Circle. That mage was an apostate once she fled!”

“She was still a mage of the Kirkwall Circle, and why _did_ she flee? To try to protect her body, mind, and perhaps life from Alrik? Is that apostasy? Your Templars,” Petrice said in fury, “have defied my edict as Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, and you are covering for them. This cannot stand.”

Anders noted contemptuously that she seemed to be more offended about her authority being defied than about the horrible crimes against innocent mages. Justice nearly surged out once again at that—but Anders managed to keep him down for a little longer. “It will not stand,” he said. “And they have apparently committed... _meant_ to commit, at a minimum, though I’m sure they did it before... a crime that is against Kirkwall law too.”

Meredith stiffened at this. “You would not dare—”

Anders stepped forward, the Fade magic of Justice pulsing in him, just behind his skin, right there, filling him with purpose and angry resolution. “Oh, I dare,” he said through clenched teeth. “Your plan is clear. You want to find some technicality to acquit them, to say there is no proof that they used Tranquility _after_ the Grand Cleric banned it, anything you can to keep them from facing justice for what they have done. But they did not _only_ violate Kirkwall Chantry edicts. They are accused of rape too, and that is a criminal offense in Kirkwall—and a _capital_ one,” he added menacingly. “No one, not even Templars, is above the law. We don’t live under your tyranny here. I am placing Otto Alrik and every Templar with him under arrest for rape, attempted rape, and conspiracy to commit rape. Back off, Knight-Commander.”

She reached for her sword, but Anders slung his staff off his back. “I said back off,” he warned again.

A grim smile bloomed on Petrice’s face. “You heard the Regent. The Chantry does not harbor accused criminals.”

“They have the right to claim sanctuary—”

“Only in the Chantry. Not inside the Gallows,” Anders said.

“They will not set foot on the Chantry steps,” Petrice vowed.

“There is no precedent for Templars to be tried under secular criminal law!” Meredith exploded.

“Then I am setting the precedent now,” Anders replied. He motioned to Aveline and her guards to take them away.

“How _dare_ you?” Meredith roared. “The only reason you _presume_ to claim the right to do this is because Hawke manipulated events to steal a crown, probably using malign magic to do it, and she spreads her legs for you at night! While I am a faithful servant of the Maker, anointed by His soldiers that fight against the scourge—”

Anders was already on the verge of exploding at her insults to Caitlyn. Hearing magic described as a scourge did it. He snapped. With a sharp jerk of his staff arm, he cast a blast of cold at the Knight-Commander, immobilizing her momentarily. He sneered at her, aware that it would thaw quickly—and it began to at once—but he had made his point. With the others following behind, he stormed out.

* * *

“I meant what I said,” Petrice informed Anders back at the Keep. “They defied me, and Meredith has protected them. And according to the account that you gave, this Alrik has committed rape before. ‘Mage girls who don’t toe the line,’ he said. They are all yours just for that. It is not the Chantry’s jurisdiction to prosecute accused rapists.”

“Has it ever prosecuted _Templars_ before?” he asked pointedly.

She managed a grim smile. “Yes, in fact,” she said, “but admittedly it is rare, and becoming rarer in recent ages. Still, they broke Kirkwall law too, and I will not protect them.” She rose from her seat after he did, then turned back, remembering one last thing. “I should warn you, Meredith may try to appeal to the Knight-Vigilant for the right to handle it herself—which, of course, would mean to do nothing.”

“Then I will make sure the Knight-Vigilant _cannot_ stay their sentence,” he said darkly. “I would rather fight with him from afar about something that can’t be undone than have that lot walking around, free to hurt more mage children. And I’m sure that Ca—the Viscountess would agree.”

After the Grand Cleric had left, Anders took several deep breaths to attempt to calm himself. _They will be put to death,_ he thought. _They will not walk free. It might have been more cathartic to do it in combat, in that cave, but they will die, and that’s what counts. Justice will be served. Hear that, Justice? You will be served. There is no need to rage and become vengeful now. We’ll just carry out the law and send them to the Void where they belong._

He rose from his seat and left the little office. All of a sudden he wanted to see his son again. _I’ll invite all of them to the Keep for dinner tonight,_ he thought. _I wish Caitlyn were here—I really need to hug her—but she is on her way to Ferelden, where she will make an alliance to help Kirkwall... against...._

At this thought, he remembered that Sebastian Vael was still there.

* * *

Anders hovered over Mal’s bed late that night, closing the book that he had just read to him. The child gazed back at his father, hazel eyes wide and innocent. “Is everything all right?” he asked. “I overheard people talking about some bad Templars.”

“Everything is fine,” Anders assured him. “We caught those Templars, and they are going to go to trial and....” He trailed off.

“And die for what they did?”

Anders took a deep breath and let it out. _He’s not innocent at all anymore,_ he thought sadly. “Yes,” he said to his son. “They are.”

“What did they do?”

Anders closed his eyes momentarily. “They did a horrible thing to mages that cuts them off from the Fade, from their magic, from their own feelings and dreams—”

“Tranquil?”

 _Oh, my poor little boy, you shouldn’t even know what that is! You should not know any meaning of that word other than “peaceful and calm.”_ Miserably Anders gazed at Mal and nodded. “It’s illegal here, but they did it anyway. And... they did something else too. They... hurt mages’ bodies, where no one should ever touch someone else if they don’t want it. It’s a horrible crime and they _will_ die for what they have done. And I promise you, you will _never_ go to a Circle. Your mother and I will teach you until you know as much as we do.”

Mal nodded. “I wish other mages could be safe like we are.”

“So do I,” Anders whispered. He kissed Mal good night on the forehead, then hurried out of the room before tears—whether of agony or outrage—formed in his eyes.

* * *

Anders sent Mal to his grandmother’s house again the next day, reluctantly, but once again, he did not want the little boy around the Keep to see or hear any more than he already had. Grudgingly he decided that he should try again to pressure his prisoner—he rather liked the idea now—to turn over Elthina. _This regime of rape and abuse occurred under Elthina,_ he thought, getting himself riled up again. _They destroyed Karl—I hope to the Maker they didn’t rape or molest him too—under Elthina._ It was beyond sickening. As much as Anders had loathed the Circle of Ferelden, and despite the presence of Templars like Ser Rolan who had the same view of Tranquility that Alrik did, Anders had never heard of mages being sexually abused there. _That, of course, does not mean that it didn’t happen,_ he thought darkly, _but even so, it was widespread here. That was a large group of Templars that we caught, and their abuse occurred almost entirely on Elthina’s watch. Surely that prince will see now that Caitlyn and I mean what we say and that this is no Game-playing._

He summoned Aveline to stand guard, even though Sebastian had been forced to surrender his bow and quiver—as well as his lockpicks, which pretty much confirmed that he had been the one to break Elthina out of jail. With the door to the prince’s quarters closed, Anders advanced on Sebastian, taking in the room around him as he did. Scorn filled his mind as his gaze passed over the fine furnishings. _Some prisoner!_ he thought.

Sebastian glowered, rising to his feet grudgingly. He inspected Anders’ clothing, a charcoal-grey suede coat with a dark red top jacket and salt-and-pepper feathers. Although Anders insisted on wearing this style, to look like the mage he was, and still had his old coat, his wardrobe had improved markedly of late, and his increasing preference for dark shades made him look much more imposing than before.

But Sebastian seemed oblivious to the meaning of Anders’ sartorial choices. He continued to glower. “I heard that you arrested Templars,” he said abruptly.

“The _Grand Cleric_ has cast them out of the Templar Order,” he said. This morning, Petrice had signed the document to do that, officially turning them over to the city. There would likely still be a challenge, since they had committed their crimes as Templars, but this would help. “And they are rapists who sought to make every mage they could get their hands on Tranquil.”

Sebastian sniffed. “Yet your ‘Tranquil Solution’ was hardly the holocaust you imagined.”

Anders stood still, gaping in amazement and fury—fury that was increasing faster than he would have thought possible. The surge from the Fade came on so fast that he could not hope to stop it. For a moment, Justice—no, _Vengeance—_ was in full control of his body, light blazing from his eyes and crackling in lightning bolt shapes down his skin. He strode forward, not caring that Sebastian was gaping in shock at the sight before him.

 _Crack!_ Anders’ fist connected with Sebastian’s nose violently, breaking it at once. _Your face will never be quite so pretty again,_ he thought in the tenth of a second before blood began to stream. Sebastian drew back, shouting in pain, covering his nose. Vengeance retreated, satisfied with the blood and the cries.

For a second Anders wondered if this had been a mistake, but he pushed that aside. He turned around and stormed away toward the door. As he jerked it open, he turned back. “You’re staying here until you turn over Elthina. I will wait for Caitlyn to affirm this, but if she approves, those are the terms for your allies and your regent. You for her.” He slammed the door behind him.

* * *

“Hostage-taking is _not_ how heads of state negotiate truces,” Aveline said hotly, following closely on Anders’ heels as he stormed toward the jail. “It’s not even done to ambassadors, let alone the leader himself!”

“I told you what he said. That self-righteous rich brat minimized rape.”

“Anders, this is not about what he said! He didn’t threaten you! The Viscountess is trying to get allies in Ferelden, and Comte de Launcet is on his way to Orlais, but if you do things like this, _nobody_ will take our side!”

“He harbors a traitor. I’m holding him for that, if anyone else objects.”

“That’s not why you are holding him and you know it!”

Anders breathed heavily. “Stop questioning me,” he said in a dark, low voice. “Caitlyn made me her advisor for justice, and she placed me in charge while she is gone. If she has a problem with this when she comes back, _she_ has the authority to undo it. You don’t.”

Aveline glowered. “I know I don’t. But I am on the Small Council too, and as such, I’m advising you to think better of it.”

“He deserved it. Just as these bastards,” he said, pulling the door to the jail open, “are going to get what _they_ deserve. Justice has been far too thin on the ground in Kirkwall, but that is about to change.”

* * *

Anders gazed around the courtroom of the Keep. This was where he, Caitlyn, Sebastian, Meredith, and Dumar had heard the account of Ser Keran that Elthina and... _someone..._ had been passing treasonous messages back and forth to let the Viscount be assassinated and their own enemies be slain in combat. _She and Meredith would have seized direct rule over the city after the Qunari attack if we had not acted then,_ he thought. _There would probably be no Viscount or Viscountess at all, just the Knight-Commander. Kirkwall would be ruled by a tyrant. Maker bless you, my love. I did not like Petrice, and still don’t, but you did what was necessary, and now things are not quite so dire. And a crucial event took place in this very room... just as another will. It is about time that the tables are turned against evil, lawless Templars like these._

Three large banners hung from the high walls, two of which were decorated. One bore the insignia of Kirkwall and one had the Amell family heraldry. The third was blank. He had had it placed there just this morning. It was a dark red swath of thick silk with black rope suspending it from the hook on the wall, and the servants who affixed it had thought it was a banner to indicate that a blood court was in session—that someone was on trial for his life. That was true enough, Anders supposed, but he meant it to be something else too.

He eyed the banner and focused his staff at it. This was delicate work, and he would not be able to fix it if he messed up. Keeping calm, he cast a stream of fine, controlled flame at the banner, burning an image into the cloth. The symbol briefly flamed before the fire went out, leaving behind a black scorch mark. At first glance it appeared to be the scales of justice—but instead of a balance, the weights were suspended from each side of the hilt of a dagger.

 _Vengeance. The tables are turned,_ Anders thought again, stalking out of the courtroom.

* * *

_Several days later._

The members of the Viscountess’s Small Council, minus the Grand Cleric, watched as Alrik and the surviving ex-Templars stood trial. Their hands were bound and shackled behind their backs, and they stood before Anders wearing not their fine, polished Templar armor, but rather, sackcloth for prisoners. Their faces were drawn and their eyes were bloodshot from lyrium withdrawal. After years of using it, it did not take long for a non-mage to suffer badly from withdrawal. The Small Council observed from what would have been a jury box, had he not declared that he alone was the judge in this case. The public gallery was almost empty. It had been full when the trial began, but a... disturbance... had necessitated the removal of much of the viewing public, Anders had decided. Aveline was still glowering about that, but it had been necessary, he thought. He couldn’t have people shouting in the middle of court.

“So,” he drawled to the Small Council and the few spectators who remained, “it has been established that you, Alrik, personally performed the Rite of Tranquility on the mages Elfhilda and Lia”—his voice changed to a furious growl—“ages _seventeen and eighteen—”_

“It hasn’t been ‘established’!” interrupted Alrik, sneering. “You wouldn’t let us—”

Standing menacingly beneath the banner of Vengeance, Anders thumped his staff hard on the floor. A powerful bolt of lightning arced from it, striking Alrik. The man crumpled on the stand, twitching as electricity crackled over his body. A faint smile formed on Anders’ face at the sight. _Templars never let mages speak in our own defense, no matter what we are accused of,_ he thought. _Apostate or Circle mage, it doesn’t matter. They accuse us, and we can say nothing. If we try, it makes it worse. They sentence us to death or Tranquility, or solitary confinement, at their own whim. How do you like it, you bastards? How do you like being silenced and punished for speaking?_

As the dark thrill of revenge passed through him, Anders gazed out, noting that the spectators who remained looked pleased—or at least tolerant. He had tried to prevent it, but previously, some people had gotten in who were opponents of Caitlyn—and him—and supported Meredith. The first time he had used magic to silence one of the rapists when the man tried to speak, these people had protested in outrage. That was why he had had them tossed out.

“It _has been established,”_ Anders continued, “that you did this to these young mages _after_ the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall made it illegal to do so, and moreover, that you then proceeded to violate them and hand them off to your fellow rapists to do the same—”

One of the others looked to speak up in objection, but Anders noticed and sent a blast of lightning at him—not as powerful as the one he had just cast on Alrik, but enough to shock the man to his knees—before he could open his mouth to speak in his defense.

“Finally, you were caught in the very act of attempting to do these same despicable acts to the mage Ella, who was merely exercising her _right_ to visit her mother. There are numerous witnesses to this, who heard what you said.” He brought out a note from his coat pocket and proceeded to read it, keeping his staff threateningly in hand. “‘You know what happens to mage girls who don’t toe the line around here, don’t you?’” Anders read.

The remaining crowd booed. A rotten potato struck Alrik. From the jury box, Aveline moved instinctively to apprehend the thrower and restore order, but she settled down in the seat again. A scowl filled her face.

Anders smiled in approval at the direction the potato had come from. “After Ella begged you not to make her Tranquil—which, again, is now _illegal—_ you said, ‘That’s right. Once you’re Tranquil, you’ll do anything I ask.’” He paused, gazing subtly at the crowd.

Jeers erupted. Several civilians surged forward, shouting. Those who carried sacks reached into them, and in the next moment, a flurry of rotten fruits and vegetables flew through the air at the accused, bound prisoners.

“The evidence speaks for itself,” Anders said once the crowd had no more food to throw. He glared at the prisoners. “You are found guilty on all counts.”

“Bollocks! We didn’t get the chance to defend ourselves!” bawled one of them in a desperate last attempt.

Anders turned to them, a menacing smile on his face as he spoke, making sure everyone in the courtroom heard. “You have been stripped of your knighthood, but you _were_ Templars, and even though you have been without lyrium for several days, there might still be some in your bodies that you could use to perform the Holy Smite or other such things. You are simply _too dangerous_ to be allowed to speak!” He leered at them, his smile broad and dark. _How do you like that, you vicious, evil tyrants?_ He did not notice; his face was turned aside, but in the jury box, Aveline and Varric drew their breath sharply, their hands finding their way to their open mouths.

Anders turned back. “In the name of Viscountess Hawke, I, her Regent, sentence all of you to death. You will die tomorrow morning.”

* * *

“Anders,” said Varric, trying to keep his voice calm, “we need to talk.”

Anders heaved a sigh. “You disapprove too. They had it coming. They are guilty. You were there, Varric. You saw it.”

“Of course they are guilty!” he exclaimed. “But Anders—this isn’t helpful. Shouting them down and zapping them with magic wasn’t helpful. Throwing the crowd out wasn’t helpful. Is this really about justice for Karl and those girls, or is it about revenge for everything _you_ have hated about the Circles?”

“What’s the _difference?”_ Anders exclaimed. “People talk about justice and vengeance as if they are two different things.”

“And you don’t think they are? You used to!”

“I’ve thought better of it,” he said coolly. “And let’s suppose I _am_ taking revenge on these Templars for everything I hate, everything that was done to me. If I am doing that, isn’t it better that I’m doing it to vile rapists like them, instead of... oh, someone like Thrask?”

Varric gaped at him for a moment. “Anders,” he said, “I don’t want to have this debate with you. All I’ll say is this. Do you really think that Hawke will approve of that trial when she hears about it?”

“After she learns what they did? Yes,” he said curtly, stalking away.

* * *

Donnic Hendyr was waiting for him outside the jail that evening. “Some weapons were seized from that lot,” he said. His face was fixed and set, as if he were trying to avoid looking too put out at Anders. “Most of them were ordinary blades and bows, but there were two things I took off Alrik that seemed magical to me. I thought you might want to have a look at them.” He held out a leather bag to Anders.

Anders accepted the bag from him, sensing that there was indeed something highly magical inside. Justice was prickling beneath the surface of his skin at the proximity of something else that was Fade-touched. Anders hurried down to the cells with the bag in hand. He would examine the objects there.

Once he was out of Donnic’s line of sight, Anders found the nearest table—a torture rack, actually—and emptied the contents of the bag onto it. The objects, a sheathed, strangely lightweight knife and some sort of... pommel?... glowed bluish-white. Gingerly, Anders put on gloves and examined the pommel-like object closely.

The glow was coming from only one end, he noted. In the gloom of the cells, it was clear to him that it was shaped like a ring around the edges of the round end. He frowned. Why would....

The round end popped off in his hands. It was a cap, and the glow came from within. Anders gazed in shock at the bluish-white symbol of a sunburst.

 _This is what they use to brand the Tranquil,_ he realized. His gaze shifted to the knife. _But that means that this is...._ He pulled the sheath off the blade and nearly gasped in amazement.

It was extremely lightweight, almost insubstantial. Anders was scared to touch the blade, which glowed with sinister shapes and seemed vaguely translucent and wavy when not looked at directly. Examining it by sight and allowing Justice to ease into slightly more control, he considered it. _There is metal,_ he decided, _but this is Fade-touched, and it seems half in the Fade itself. This blade... this is also something they use in the Rite of Tranquility. But how? What do they do with it?_ He closed his eyes, wondering if Justice somehow had this knowledge, if over the course of his bond with Anders prior to his own separation from the Fade, he had discovered the memories of Templars who had performed the Rite. A vague image filled Anders’ thoughts at this.

He gazed down the cell block, considering his options, then replaced both objects and stalked darkly toward the imprisoned Templars, bag in hand.

* * *

Alrik was slumped in his cell, his hands shackled. When Anders approached, the former Templar got to his feet, glowering.

“You aren’t supposed to do it until tomorrow,” he said.

Anders unlocked the door. “I need to _question_ you.”

Alrik’s eyes widened. “You foul, usurping apostate! You wouldn’t _dare!”_

“Wouldn’t I? This is a wonderful change, in my view. How many times did _your_ kind lock _me_ up, or others like me, for imagined offenses? And you really _are_ a monster.” Anders slung his staff off his back and zapped the Templar with it. A bolt of lightning arced across his body, stark white in the dim cell. Alrik groaned and twitched, collapsing to the floor in pain.

Anders stood back, glowering in contempt, his staff in hand. “Elthina was conspiring with someone in the Templars during Viscount Dumar’s reign. Was it Mettin or Meredith?”

Alrik spat. “I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.”

Another jolt of lightning rocked him.

“Are you sure about that?” Anders said.

“I’m sure,” seethed the man. “I know that’s what you and your fellow apostate bed-warmer claimed, but—”

A blast of flame struck him. “Care to take any of that back?” Anders hissed.

Alrik glared at Anders in pure hatred. “Just kill me if you’re bent on it.”

“Oh, you will die,” Anders said, “make no mistake about that. But a clean death is too kind for you.” His face curdled. “When I think of what you did to so many mages... you despicable, loathsome _monster—”_ Rage suddenly overtook him, and with it, Justice—as Vengeance, rather. Fade-light blazed from his eyes as Alrik backed up, startled and scared. Vengeance-Anders advanced on him, slinging his staff on his back again. He reached into the leather bag and withdrew both instruments of Tranquility. The cap popped off the lyrium brand and clattered to the floor, metal on stone, clinking discordantly like a bell of the Void itself. He unsheathed the knife, which gleamed in his right hand as the brand gleamed in his left and the blue glow of Vengeance shined from his eyes and crackled down his skin.

Alrik’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered as Anders advanced. He backed into a corner of the cell.

Anders drew near, hovering over the shackled Templar. Momentarily he transferred the knife to his left hand. With his now-free right, he cast a spell to immobilize and freeze Alrik in place. He took the blade in hand again but did not use it. _I do not want to make this quick,_ he thought. _I want to make him suffer as so many mages suffered when this was done to them._ Instead, he held out the lyrium brand.

Alrik closed his eyes to the sight of the glowing brand as Anders brought it close to his forehead—but he could not stifle the shout of pain as the mage pressed it to his skin. The glowing lyrium scalded his skin, the close proximity of the magical substance to his brain bringing on an immediate and overpowering headache. He screamed, and it echoed down the cell block.

“Hurts?” Anders said in a low voice, keeping the brand in place. “I wish I could do it over and over for every mage that you subjected to this.”

Beads of sweat formed on Alrik’s forehead as he tried to scoot away, but there was nowhere for him to go. He was backed into a corner. He pushed against the cold stone, but that only made it easier for Anders, who increased the pressure at once.

“He—” Alrik tried to choke out. He winced as a trickle of blood poured from his nose. “He screamed like a baby when I did it to him.”

Anders needed no clarification as to who “he” was. _Karl,_ he thought at once. In fury and miserable, wretched despair at the thought of someone he had cared about enduring this, he brought out the glowing Fade-touched blade. Jerking Alrik’s head forward—though keeping the brand in place—he pressed the tip of the blade to the back of the man’s head. He was sure for a moment that he could see through the blade—and then he pushed it forward.

There was no spurt of blood, no sound of slicing, and little physical resistance. The... blade... passed into Alrik’s head, leaving no mark. Relying on some innate, indescribable knowledge that Vengeance had gleaned from the Fade, he drew it upward, between what would be the two hemispheres of his brain, as Anders knew from his Healer studies. A dark smile filled his face at that thought. He noted the exact moment that the horror and fury left Alrik’s eyes, replaced with a calm placidity—but he still kept the other implement, the lyrium brand, in place.

“Stop,” pleaded Alrik, his voice now changed. “It hurts, take it away—”

 _“Go to the Void,”_ Anders hissed. He kept it pressed against Alrik’s forehead as his verbal protests became incoherent screams of pain. He watched as more trickles of blood appeared from the corners of Alrik’s mouth, then each of his eyes, then his ears—that blood curiously discolored and diluted.

Anders drew back, staring, breathing heavily. The former Templar lay dead on the floor, the brand of Tranquility burned all the way down to bone, his brains liquefied and pooling on the floor from his ears.

With that, Vengeance ceded control, satisfied. Fully in control of himself again, Anders gazed down at his handiwork.

_Did I really just...._

He gazed at the instruments in his hands. Feeling suddenly uncertain, he capped the brand, sheathed the knife, and shoved them both into the leather bag, unable to look at them. _He took joy in telling me that Karl suffered,_ he told himself. _He was a tyrant to mages and to the very last—before he was Tranquil, at least—he was a monster._

_A tyrant and a monster._

_I’m not...._

Anders glanced back again. The scar of the lyrium brand would be apparent to anyone. He grimaced. That could not remain. _If it’s illegal for Templars, it’s definitely illegal for me,_ he thought. Shuddering, he hauled Alrik’s body out of the cell by the arms, dragging it along the floor. He would throw it into the common pyre for criminals before anyone saw the evidence.

Mal was already in bed. It was hard for Anders to believe that this same evening, he had tucked his little son into bed, reading about Black Fox to him. He really, really wished that Caitlyn were here—but she was in Denerim, so he would have only Pounce cuddled against him in bed tonight.

 _Was that right?_ he thought. The other being seemed conflicted too.

* * *

A crowd had gathered for the execution of the rest of the ex-Templars—and not an entirely friendly crowd. There were supporters, definitely, and Anders was sure he saw several apostates in the crowd that he recognized, but there were also faces that were hard and angry.

_“Where is Alrik?” Aveline had demanded that morning._

_“He died under questioning,” Anders said._

_Her nostrils flared at that. She knew what “died under questioning” meant—though Anders was quite sure that she did not know the full gory details. “I hope, and so should you, that this doesn’t irremediably hurt Hawke’s plans,” she said sharply._

“These former Templars, stripped of their knighthood by the Grand Cleric, have been found guilty of rape,” he said to the gathered crowd. “They have abused their trust and their power over innocent mages—mages who are sons and daughters, brothers and sisters—and we will ensure that any others who do so are brought to justice, but rest assured, people of Kirkwall, that _these_ will no longer harm your children.” He turned to the bound Templars, who stood in a line on the Gallows. He had considered executing them by hanging, but he decided that what they truly deserved was to die by magic. The chains that bound their wrists, ankles, and necks would conduct lightning _very_ well.

It was traditional for the lord ordering an execution to say, “Maker turn his gaze upon you,” offering the prisoners one last chance to seek absolution, but Anders would not do it. _They go straight to the Void,_ he thought angrily as he stared out at them. Forming a powerful lightning spell, he cast the bolt at the metal ball that connected to the end of the chain that bound all of them.

They screamed and twitched in agony as the bolts, one after the other, arced across the metal. As they gradually stopped twitching in death, the crowd—or the part of it that opposed this—began to murmur and shout in outrage.

“Monster! You didn’t even give them a fair trial!”

The last former Templar stilled as the arcs of lightning crackled out. Anders lifted his hands from the ball and gazed out. Angry, outraged faces confronted him.

“Bloodthirsty maleficar!”

 _“Magister!_ Just like a magister!”

The opposing part of the crowd took up this cry. _“Magister! Magister!”_ they chanted derisively. Several of them raised pitchforks. In response, the part of the crowd that backed Caitlyn and Anders turned on the people in their midst who were shouting invective at Anders.

Anders turned to Aveline, suddenly horrified. Aveline’s eyes narrowed for a moment, as if to say _“I told you so,”_ but in the next, she was calling for her guards to attempt to contain the crowd.

It was too late. Someone—it was never clear from which side—threw a rock, and with that, a riot erupted. Screams and shouts filled the air as people lunged at each other.

In the distance, Meredith Stannard smirked in satisfaction.

* * *

_Later._

“We couldn’t arrest all of them,” Aveline reported, a scowl on her face. “My guards have brought in the ones who appeared to be leading others, or who did the worst.”

“Was anyone killed?” Anders asked.

She shook her head. “We’re fortunate in _that,_ at least. Though one person came damn close. A _pro-mage_ rioter beat that one bloody,” she said harshly. “We apprehended that person.”

Anders got up from his seat and glowered out the window for a moment. He turned back to face her. “What about the others you arrested?”

“Most of them were pro-Templar rioters. We arrested them for disturbing the peace, vandalism, inciting violence, and—where we saw them fighting—assault. And I _strongly_ suggest that you let _someone else_ handle the trials.”

He scowled. “They don’t get a trial.”

Aveline and Varric, who was standing nearby, both gaped at him. _“What?”_ she exclaimed.

“They rioted against the execution of rapists. If they have a problem with the Court of Justice—”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” she said. “It looked a great deal more like the Court of Vengeance to me!”

He scowled. “They weren’t rioting in defense of what was right. They were rioting in support of rapists—rapists of _children._ If they have a problem with my Court of _Justice,_ then they won’t be tried there. They will remain in jail until Caitlyn or I decide to let them out! Let’s make an example of them to show others what happens when they try to undermine the law of Kirkwall!”

“Anders!”

He breathed hard. “I am not proud of everything I have done in this,” he said tightly, “but we _cannot_ give in to rioters. It will only encourage them!”

“No one is asking you to give in to them! I agree that they should be punished, but you want to lock them up indefinitely without trial!”

“Dumar was weak, and look what became of him because of it. Weakness in leaders does not generate mercy—it attracts bullies like the Arishok, like Meredith and Elthina! We cannot show weakness. Caitlyn’s rule is fragile enough.”

Aveline glowered. Varric exchanged a dark, pointed look with her before finally saying, “You had best hope that she gets an alliance in Ferelden, because you’re going to need it now. And frankly, I wouldn’t want to be you when she returns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian’s comment is not bashing; it’s almost verbatim from the game (differs only in "yet" rather than "so"). I wish Anders responded this way, but here, of course, he didn’t attempt to kill an innocent mage as Vengeance, so he’s not _about_ to listen to a theocratic prince minimize rape.
> 
> I realize I may have gone too far even for the most bloodthirsty among you (which I mean in the nicest way. I’m bloodthirsty too, clearly). If you are put off by Vengeance!Anders Tranquilizing someone (even a rapist), please don’t give up on the story yet.
> 
> My idea of Alrik’s Tranquility knife is heavily influenced by the intercision blade in _The Golden Compass_.


	14. Wide Awake After the Riot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the strong response to the previous chapter! I did not mean that behavior to be overly sympathetic, and this chapter takes on some of the fallout of it.
> 
> Song: “Murder City” by Green Day.

_I did what I had to do. People have to see that Caitlyn and I are not weak, that we won’t be cowed just because we are mages. I had to make an example of those monsters to show that we are not afraid of our enemies, either here in the city or high in the Chantry. And it’s “we” because Caitlyn will understand._

_Besides, people have to be shown how dark and brutal and, above all, unfair it is to do these things to mages, and what better way than to do them to the group that inflicts them on mages?_

Such were the rationalizations that Anders had told himself for several days after the Gallows riot. He knew that nothing of the sort had been the actual reason that he had conducted the manner of trial he did, executed the ex-Templars as he had, and—though no one knew of this, no one was chastising him for it, save his own conscience—used the Rite of Tranquility on Alrik. He knew that he had actually done these things purely for the pleasure of revenge, but since the riot, he had begun to wonder if he had just lowered himself. If these things were wrong for Templars to do to mages, were they not wrong for a mage to do to Templars? It had felt right at the time, right and _just—_ pure, undiluted justice, untempered by custom or tradition _._ Why, then, was he doubting now? Why did he _need_ after-the-fact justifications for acts that he had not questioned at the time, except for the Tranquility?

Had he acted just as badly as those he fought, or did guilt and innocence make the difference? _Caitlyn and I, and our friends, have killed plenty of evil mages who deserved it. Is the difference that these Templars deserved what I did, whereas innocent mages—or mages who haven’t done anything that bad—don’t deserve the same treatment? Not all crimes are treated the same in the law. We don’t execute pickpockets and we don’t jail murderers for a fortnight. They did deserve it... it was not disproportionate... it was justice...._

_But I acted vengefully. That was my true, deepest motive, and I cannot deny that even to myself. I did it because of wrongs against me and wrongs that I saw in the whole system, to make them hurt as other mages had been hurt. But isn’t that itself justice?_

_What is the difference?_ At this, the dead end of this trail of thought every time he dwelt on it, Anders rested his head on his folded arms atop his desk. _Justice is exercised by the law and vengeance isn’t? But I did act as the law. What is the bloody difference?_

The spirit that shared his body and mind could not answer the question either. Anders had, blithely and somewhat nihilistically, accepted this lack of an answer as a justification for himself, but now he wondered if this meant that the darkening of Justice was irreversible. If he could not articulate the difference between these ideas, how could he help the spirit keep to its purpose?

 _Even if it is wrong,_ he decided again, reverting back to the beginning of the circle of thought he found himself locked within so much, _it could have a good outcome—and these were evil people, so it wasn’t_ that _wrong. The northern cities and our enemies high in the Chantry will see they cannot bully us, and if those people rioted because they objected to its being done to rapist Templars, maybe some of them will realize that it is wrong to do it to innocents._

Anders almost laughed aloud at the naïveté of that thought. _I need to stop this,_ he decided, lifting his head and rising from the chair. He passed directly into the family quarters of the Keep and locked himself in. The cat jumped from the chair he was covering in yellow hair and approached Anders, rubbing on his legs and following him with playful bites and leaps at his feet. Anders smiled; he was wearing his boots, so Pounce could not hurt him, and he envied the simplicity of the cat’s life at this moment.

He knocked on his son’s bedroom door. “Mal?” he said. “Would you like to practice your spells with me?”

He heard shuffling from within the room. “All right,” the boy said. He opened the door and looked up at his father. “You’re upset,” he observed. “Is it because Varric and Aveline are angry with you?”

Anders suppressed an unhappy sigh as he led Mal down to the warded practice room. Varric and Aveline were basically not speaking to him anymore except when they had to have his official approval for something, and he had to acknowledge, he was not being much of a Regent since the riot, choosing instead to stay ensconced in the Keep. Aveline had called a strict curfew every night since then. “That’s a part of it,” he said to his son.

“It’s all right. Friends never stay angry forever, and Merrill still likes us. And Mother is going to be back tomorrow, and after that, it’s my birthday! It’s going to be all right.”

 _I wish that I could be confident that her return would truly make everything all right,_ he thought.

* * *

Caitlyn’s ship was set to come ashore at midday. Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, she had been lucky for both trips in that the ship encountered no storms. It was cold but brilliantly sunny. She would have taken it as a good omen if she were superstitious, but instead, it was just a further mood boost. She was already feeling positive about the successful trip, the treaty of alliance between Kirkwall and Ferelden that she carried back, and the fact that she was going to see her friends, Anders, and Mal again. _Tomorrow is Mal’s birthday,_ she thought, _and I hope he likes the gifts I got him in Denerim. I can’t wait to see him... and Mother... and Anders. Maker, it’s been two weeks. I hope it’s not obvious to anyone how often my thoughts have strayed to the reunion with Anders. Thank the Maker indeed for Warden stamina!_

As the ship sailed through the Twins, the Tevinter statues of miserable slaves that marked the entry to Kirkwall waters, her good mood faltered a bit. _I remember the other time I saw those things from this angle,_ she thought, remembering the trip in Dragon 9:30 when Bethany had just been killed. _But it is very different now._

The hideous statues and imposing rock formations gave way to the familiar harbor and towering, stepped city. Caitlyn’s ship docked, and she prepared to disembark once the sailors made it safe for her. Baldwin barked eagerly, looking forward to seeing the rest of his pack as well. Caitlyn gathered her staff and slung it across one shoulder, smiling as she gazed upon the city.

In a minute, Aveline appeared at the head of the guards who were gathered at the harbor to receive the ship. She looked extremely put out. Caitlyn noticed, with some surprise and sudden alarm, that her family was nowhere to be seen. As she approached the gangplank to let Aveline escort her—she did not need it, but it was a courtesy for a head of state—she then noticed that there seemed to be an unusual number of guards about, and they were all very wary.

“Your Grace,” Aveline said in clipped tones. “Welcome home. I hope your trip was successful.”

“It was, in fact,” she said quietly, so that no one else could overhear. “I got the alliance.” Aveline’s expression changed to a grim smile at these words. “What’s the matter? Something is wrong. Where are Anders and the rest of my family?”

They set foot on the dock, and guards immediately formed a tight circle around Caitlyn to escort her to a carriage that would take her to the Keep. “We had a riot,” Aveline said, gazing ahead—almost glowering. “We can talk about it at the Keep. Your family and friends are all fine, don’t worry about that.”

Relief filled her at Aveline’s last sentence, but her first one was shocking. “A _riot?_ A full-fledged riot, not just another protest or small street fight?”

“A full-fledged riot at the Gallows.” She helped Caitlyn into the carriage.

“Then why wait until we reach the Keep?” Caitlyn exclaimed once it started to roll up the street. “What in the Void happened?”

Her lips thinned and she stared ahead. “It’s not my place to tell you like this. The _Lord Consort_ will want to have his say as well, and you have the right to hear it all at once without prior prejudice.”

Aveline was very formal and proper with Caitlyn’s and Anders’ titles in her official capacity as Captain of the Guard, but among friends and in private, she called them by their own names, especially Anders. Caitlyn instantly realized that she was extremely angry at Anders not to do so, and that it related to the riot. _What in the Maker’s name did he do?_ she thought. To her dismay, her anticipation for their physical reunion lessened a bit. She resolved not to judge before she knew the facts, but she felt apprehensive nonetheless.

* * *

_“Mother!”_ exclaimed Mal, beaming as she entered the Keep. “You’re back! Guess what tomorrow is?”

She decided to play along. “Hmm, should there be a council meeting....”

“It’s my _birthday!_ Did you get me any presents in Ferelden? Did you go to Lothering?”

She was smiling at his joy and anticipation until that last question. “I did remember it was your birthday! I was just teasing you. And I did get you presents,” she said, trying not to sound too sad, “but they came from Denerim. You never saw Denerim, but someday you will, I’m sure.” She wanted to avoid telling him the horrible truth about Lothering, which he knew was his birthplace and of which he did have a few memories. She didn’t want him to forget it, because that would mean forgetting Bethany, but she realized that she was not prepared for this. The memories had not been too badly stirred up on her trip because she had not passed over any familiar ground.

“I’ll go with you next time,” he agreed, “and then we can go to Lothering together and see where I was born.”

“I... maybe,” she said brokenly. She gazed sadly at him. “Right now, Mal, Lothering... it hasn’t been rebuilt or resettled yet. No one is there.”

His face fell. “Oh,” he said in a small voice.

“But there are lots of nice towns to see in Ferelden,” she said, “and after all, I have only seen Gwaren and Denerim! Your uncle Carver has probably seen all of the big towns by now. Maybe someday we can do that with him.”

Mal nodded. “That would be good. What did you get me in Denerim?”

She smirked. “Your _birthday_ presents... and today is not your birthday. You’ll see tomorrow!”

He smiled again and scampered off, Baldwin following behind him playfully. As they disappeared toward the inner rooms of the Keep, she noticed that Anders had emerged from his office at last. His face was a study: She saw defensiveness, wariness, and perhaps a bit of shame, but also genuine happiness at seeing her again. Aveline had witnessed the family moment with Mal as she stood guard in the corner, but the nostalgic smile that had formed on her face faded as Anders appeared.

“Welcome back, love,” Anders said quietly as he approached her.

She embraced him immediately. Whatever had happened, she did not want to start off negatively. He hesitated but wrapped his arms around her in return after a moment. She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth and the closeness. Her desire to reunite intimately with him surged back... but they couldn’t do it now. She drew away and smiled mildly at him. “I got the alliance,” she said.

He glanced down at the floor. “Good! Are the terms what you expected?”

She was surprised by that reaction and instantly on her guard. “No changes to the ones we all discussed,” she confirmed. “Why? Aveline has already told me that there was a riot. She didn’t say anything else except that you would want to have your say. What happened? Is it something that you fear might imperil the alliance?”

Anders sighed. _Leave it to her to lay it out like that,_ he thought. Taking her hand gently, he gazed ahead. “We should all discuss it, and Varric too.”

* * *

Caitlyn listened in increasing astonishment and indignation as the three of them narrated what had happened while she was away. “Let me make sure I understand this,” she said, gaping at Anders. “You used magic to silence them at trial and allowed the crowd to throw rotten food at them? Then instead of hanging them, you came up with the idea of sending a lightning spell through their metal chains to put them to death, and did this in front of a crowd?”

He glowered. “They deserved it. That sort of trial is exactly what they do to mages, and if you think that it will be any better for mage trials to be heard by a ‘panel of priests’ instead of a proper court—” He broke off. He was not angry with her; he didn’t want her first few hours home to be like this.

“So you hate what Templars do; you think it’s wrong; therefore, the obvious answer is to do it yourself,” Varric said sarcastically.

“It’s not the same. I didn’t do it _first._ It would be wrong for me to strike the first blow, but justice that is too mild for the offense isn’t true justice,” he said, withdrawing into himself, staring at them across the table.

Aveline scowled at Anders. “None of us doubt the Templars’ guilt. We were all there and we saw and heard them. They deserved execution. There is no question of that. But doing it like you insisted on doing....”

Caitlyn glared fiercely at him as well. “It sounds as if the riot erupted in part because a significant part of Kirkwall _did_ doubt their guilt due to the ridiculous ‘trial.’ You knew they were guilty. Others didn’t.”

Feeling under siege, Anders became even more defensive. “They rioted because they are the same ones who have been listening to Meredith, passing on Elthina’s words, speaking sedition against you—and they also did it because I am a mage,” he said defiantly.

“The leaders of the riot— _both sides_ of the riot,” Aveline added with a dark glare at Anders, “are still in jail. Anders decreed that they would be held there without trial until you or he decided to release them.”

Caitlyn gaped at Anders. _“What?_ Anders, you can’t do that! The law dictates a certain maximum sentence for crimes. What actually happened? Did these rioters kill anyone?”

“No,” Aveline said. “He just decided that they should be locked up because they were disrespectful to his ‘Court of Justice.’”

Caitlyn breathed out, trying to control her temper. She was becoming furious with Anders. _I went to Ferelden to get a much-needed alliance of defense for Kirkwall. I left him in charge for a mere two weeks, and this is the best he could do?_ To Aveline she said, “They won’t be locked up for life unless they did something that merits that and a _court_ sentences them. If you don’t already have a list of what these people were specifically arrested for, please compile one soon so we can do that. If possible, let’s try them all at once and be done with it, rather than dragging trials out individually. Less ill feeling.”

“Oh... and there is one other thing,” said Varric. “You have another guest in the Keep: Sebastian Vael. Although I understand that _Blondie_ regards him as a hostage. It’s fortunate for us all that King Alistair didn’t see you that way.”

Anders slammed his palms on the table at that. “He is not a prisoner! He has a guest room in the outer Keep with food and every comfort.” He scowled at the table as he explained to Caitlyn. After several days, he did have second thoughts about this, but Varric’s cutting sarcasm only made him want to dig in again. “He arrived with the presumption of offering a ‘truce’ while still expecting to harbor Elthina as she encourages sedition and lies by agents. There is a schism brewing in the Chantry that threatens us, and she is aiding and abetting it. I said Sebastian would stay here until he turned her over.”

“Well, that would be taking a hostage,” Caitlyn said, provoking a further glower from Anders. “All right. I don’t blame you for not wanting to treat with him if he won’t offer anything meaningful. Maybe it is too much to expect of him to offer her head to us, since she is like a mother to him. I certainly couldn’t do anything to _you_ if _he_ demanded it, so I suppose I do understand. But you are absolutely right that she is undermining us, helping Meredith, and providing aid to reactionaries in the Chantry who are encouraging the likes of Meredith—and indirectly, Alrik. He won’t get any terms from _me_ unless he is willing to work against that, and that means breaking his alliance with Tantervale and muzzling Elthina at a minimum. _However,”_ she said harshly, “you cannot just lock him in the Keep, even in a nice room. You do realize that Starkhaven and Tantervale would eventually march on us, don’t you?”

He gazed down at the table, embarrassed this time. “I... you’re right.”

“I will talk with him soon—once I am confident that _I_ wouldn’t blast him backward,” she said wryly, provoking a smile from Varric and the ghost of one from Anders. “Now... I’m sorry to dismiss you... but I think Anders and I need to have a private discussion about the riot and the events leading up to it.”

Aveline and Varric rose from their seats at once and hurried away, closing the doors tightly behind them. Caitlyn took another deep breath and turned to Anders, who had drawn himself back into a tight position, his arms crossed over his chest defensively, his gaze shooting forward in defiance.

“Well,” she said, “I was looking forward to seeing you again....”

“And now you wish you were still in Denerim?” he spat.

She glared back at him. “No. I _wish_ that you had kept your head. Do you comprehend what you’ve done?”

“What I’ve done?”

“You were dissatisfied with the piecemeal compromises I made with Petrice for Circle reform. So am I! I wanted to do more! I wanted to be as radical as you could dream of... and you had a perfect case that you could use to support that agenda. Don’t you see, Anders? This _proves_ that mild reform isn’t enough. The Grand Cleric of Kirkwall ordered changes, but there were _still_ Templars who just didn’t follow her orders, and if not for Thrask, nobody would have known about it!” She rose from her chair heatedly, becoming more exercised the more she thought and talked about it. Turning to face him, she continued. “This _proves_ that the Circles need to be opened up completely so that there are institutions other than just the Chantry that can keep an eye on them. It proves that _everything we wanted to do_ is right and necessary....” She trailed off darkly, fury overtaking her. _“And you blew it!_ You could have used this to win people over to radical change, but instead, you made yourself look like some kind of Tevinter tyrant and incited civil unrest!”

For a moment, Anders looked properly abashed, but that moment passed in the blink of an eye. In the next, the familiar crackles of blue lightning began to pass over his head and neck. Caitlyn sucked in her breath hard. _This_ was not something she had wanted to deal with—

“You worry about politics,” he growled, his voice attenuated even though the light did not blaze from his eyes, “but you were not here! You did not see the gang of Templars threatening a young girl, all but confessing that they had done these things before to others! Merely hanging the rapists would not have been _true_ justice, and denying them the right to speak in their defense is exactly what Templars do to mages, except that most mages wouldn’t _lie_ like they did!”

“I’m not going to debate with a Fade spirit,” Caitlyn said harshly. “You listen to me, _Justice._ Back off and let Anders have his say!”

“We share,” he replied. “And we do not just share a body. I explained this before. We bleed together. Our thoughts blend sometimes.”

“That’s beside the point,” she said. “Most of the time, he has more control than right now. Is that what happened to cause all of this? You were so focused on ‘justice’ against these specific Templars that you lost sight of the greater cause and everything else? _Anders_ wouldn’t forget about the cause!”

“The cause?” he said, his eyes still amber even as Fade-light crackled and rippled all over him, making him look frighteningly pale in the dark coat he was wearing. “Is that what you’re worried about? Not your Fereldan alliance, not your new crown? Not the power that you wanted for three years?”

Caitlyn drew back, shocked, furious, and hurt. She gaped at him, emerald eyes wide.

A look of horror passed over Anders’ face at his own words. She was still too stunned to process it, to do anything except observe, but he wrested the spirit into submission. The blue crackles faded away, and when he spoke again, his voice was his own. “Caitlyn, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean that—please, I’m sorry, please forgive me—”

 _I can’t believe you said that,_ she thought as she stared at his pleading face, _but... on some level, is it true?_

“Cait,” he whispered. “Please....”

She realized that he meant it, and that most likely, Justice was not himself at the moment. She had seen the spirit in its normal aspect, righteous and hard but never cruel. _This_ was the spirit’s other aspect. She swallowed hard, trying not to become awash in hurt or anger. “I forgive you,” she managed, “but you know... and I mean this for both of you... have you ever considered that now, justice for mages may well depend on my keeping political power? I don’t know that, but it could be the case. And even if it isn’t, the safety of _your son,_ his ability to have a _chance_ at something like a normal life instead of being the child of perpetual fugitives and hermits, depends on ‘my power.’”

Anders grimaced, closing his eyes, unable to dispute her points.

She heaved a sigh, trying to dissipate her frustration, and continued. “As for what you claimed before that outburst... you have to know that isn’t true, both of you. All you did was dirty your own hands. You did what you hate.”

The defensive scowl filled his face again. “That’s the nature of justice. It requires people to do things that would be wrong if they did them first.”

“Anders—I am not disputing that those Templars deserved death! They did! But there was no need to do what you did. They’re dead! You’re not Andrastian, but you believe in the Maker, and you believe they’re walking the Void. That’s worse than anything you could mete out! And speaking of that... you said that hanging them wouldn’t have been true justice, but did they really suffer more in an execution-by-lightning than they would have in a hanging? Besides, is inflicting torture what Justice would want... or Vengeance?”

 _Inflicting torture,_ Anders thought. Her words hit him hard, and with them, the one thing he had told no one rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. _Justice definitely would not have done that,_ he thought. _Pure Justice was opposed to it. He murdered Rolan violently and gorily, and he was already slightly impure when that happened, just by joining with me, but he took Rolan’s life for what he caused for the Hawkes and for all the mages that he ruined in Ferelden. The Rite of Tranquility was wrong and Justice knew that._

 _I did it to Alrik purely out of revenge,_ he realized, accepting the dark truth at last. _I didn’t even let him live as a Tranquil. I killed him immediately with the lyrium brand. It was not about a harsh form of justice by making him live as he made others live. It was about the momentary dark glee at the act of doing it. Is that the difference? Is that what defines vengeance?_

He had not told anyone else. No one knew, but he could not keep this from her. Lifting his head up again to face her, eyes wide and miserable, he spoke, surprised that his voice was only a broken whisper suddenly. “Cait,” he said, “yes. He was Vengeance. And I know this because... there was something else that I did, something that nobody saw and nobody knows about... until now.”

She had been ready to continue trying to persuade him, although it was wearying her, but his sudden change of tone—and without an obvious source of shame, as his instant apology minutes ago had had—startled her. What else had he done? She was almost afraid of what she was about to hear, but whatever it was, he wanted to confess it, and she did not want to discourage that. “What was it, love?” she asked as gently as she could.

He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly that he did not deserve the word. What would she think? There was nothing for it but to say it and find out, he knew. “The leader, Alrik, was not one of the ones executed at the Gallows,” he began. “I did that alone in the jail cell. And... please try not to hate me for this....”

“I tried and failed to hate you once for what I imagined you did to _me,”_ she said wryly. “I couldn’t hate you for whatever you did to him.”

He managed a single bleak chuckle, but his regret quickly took over again. “He had been carrying the instruments of the Rite of Tranquility on him. I used them against him in that cell,” he said, no longer pausing or hesitating. It was better just to say it at last. “I let Justice— _Vengeance—_ find a vague memory in the Fade of what to do, and I did it to him. And then killed him with the lyrium brand.” He gazed up at her, his eyes contrite but also challenging, as if daring her to follow through with her promise not to hate him.

Caitlyn had drawn her hands to her mouth halfway through his explanation, gazing in shock at him. She blinked and removed her hands, trying to accept what she had just heard. “You....”

“I have tried not to think too hard about it,” he croaked, “because I have always considered that the worst, the greatest abuse of all. Living as an emotionless slave, unable to feel or dream ever again, is worse than anything. And _I did it._ I didn’t let him _live_ that way; I killed him immediately, but it wasn’t because of mercy. It was because I knew that the lyrium brand would be torture to a Tranquil. The last thing he said before I... severed him... was to tell me how much Karl suffered.”

She rose from her seat and crossed around the table to sit next to him, placing an arm around his shoulders.

“I had the brand against his forehead first. He knew that that alone would kill him, I’m sure, and he said that because he could still make _me_ hurt even as he died of the lyrium. So I didn’t want him to be able to find any more solace in his own evil and cruelty. I wanted him completely in my power, unable to fight back even with words—and that’s what Tranquility _is._ And _I_ did that.” A sob escaped him as he hung his head, covering his eyes with his hands. “I’m not proud of it. I’m not sure that anyone, even someone like him, deserves that, but even if some do... I feel stained for having done it myself, the thing I saw as the worst evil of all, and I can never wipe that off. And it _was_ Vengeance’s influence... but Caitlyn... he formed because of me, my anger and imperfection. Justice once was perfect, at least as the ideal that he personified. He never would have done that for any reason, let alone those reasons.”

She pulled him into her arms across the narrow space between their chairs. “Anders,” she said gently, stroking his head. “I won’t say it’s all right, but I understand. I’ve given in to my darkness too. Merrill almost died because of it recently, and I almost destroyed our hope for a future together another time I gave in.”

Anders gazed up at her, his eyes now showing fear. “It’s becoming less clear to me when the spirit is in control,” he said. “He doesn’t always take me over fully anymore. I’m not sure sometimes, when I’m angry, where I end and he begins. And it is making both of us into something that....”

“Hush. You can do this. You can control it,” she said quietly as she tried to comfort him. He stifled another sob as she held his bent head against her shoulder. This was not how she had expected to be spending her first few hours home, and after the talk, she had been furious and prepared to let him have it for his behavior. _I still have a mess to clean up,_ she thought, _but if he is worried and hurting, I need to try to help him anyway. He was always there for me when something was troubling me, even when I lashed out at him._

At last he lifted his head, heaving a shuddering sigh. He gazed at her. “Thank you, love. I knew you would understand.”

She drew back suddenly and eyed him, suspicion filling her again. “What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have done the Rite,” he said, “and... I suppose I shouldn’t have locked up Sebastian in a fit of pique. But we came to an accord about the rest... didn’t we?” he finished uncertainly.

Caitlyn rose from her seat, the moment lost, as she stared at him. “The accord I understood was that you acknowledged that Justice was dark when you did all of it,” she said.

He stared past her. “I didn’t think he.... You said that inflicting torture was not something Justice would want to do, and I had to confess about the Rite then, but the rest of it was not torture. I didn’t do the other things to torture the Templars, just to show them what it felt like when they treat mages that way.”

“I fail to see much of a distinction,” she said coolly, eyebrows raised.

“There were other reasons,” he burst out. “I didn’t think of them, exactly, at the time, but I thought of them afterward.”

“So they’re after-the-fact justifications?”

He scowled, the moment of sweetness and closeness completely gone now. “This could persuade people who don’t understand what mages are so upset about. If they object to something being done to Templars, maybe they will understand then. And it will send a message to the Knight-Vigilant, the northern clerics, all of those people, that we are not afraid of them.”

“Oh, it’ll send a message, no doubt, just not the one that you want!” she exploded. “Anders, I don’t like it either, but the fact is that people have different expectations for us! For the sake of holding the moral high ground and convincing people that our cause is right, we have to show that we are better! We cannot hold show trials and put people to death with magic as some sort of metaphorical middle finger. Obviously combat and self-defense are different. But when we are exercising power, we have to be better. Maybe it’s unfair, but it’s the truth.”

He turned aside, pain in every line of his face at the disagreement. It seemed intractable, and he hated that. “I cannot accept this unfairness,” he said. “All I want is to be treated the same as everyone else. I want _you_ to be, and Mal to be, and you say that we can’t, even now. It’s good that you are back, because clearly, I should never be Regent again. I’m sorry.”

Caitlyn stared at him, unhappy and frustrated, as he left.

* * *

She caught up with the rest of the events that had transpired while she was away. There was no word from Orlais about the Comte’s visit, but that was a long journey and she did not expect to hear anything so soon. Curiously, the rest of her Small Council was divided about Anders’ actions. Varric and Aveline were resolutely opposed, and Ser Marlein was not overly pleased either, but Mistress Selby appeared to take some perverse pleasure in the proceedings. Merrill was fearful most of all; she did not have an opinion about whether Anders’ actions were right or wrong, but she did know that the city was in a state of unease ever since the riot. And in a turn that actually shocked Caitlyn, Petrice was pleased that Anders had been so harsh with the Templars. Apparently she was extremely offended that Meredith had turned a blind eye to actions that defied her edicts, viewing herself as the real target of the Templars’ “defiance.” She did _care_ about the rapes, since rape had been one of her major arguments against the Qunari, but she seemed most pleased that Anders had cracked down so hard on an affront to her authority as Grand Cleric. It was a development that Caitlyn had not foreseen, and it was frustrating. _She of all people should understand the bad politics of magic being used this way. But then, I know that she is obsessed with her own “power” and a better short-term planner than a long-term one. Still, she ought to understand that this sort of news out of Kirkwall will not help us with the opposition to Divine Justinia._

“They are never going to support you, you know,” the priest said when Caitlyn talked about it with her late that afternoon. “You could abdicate and they would still want to tear your family apart.”

She tried not to show her own exasperation. “I’m not trying to get their support. I know they are obdurate enemies. I just don’t want more people to support _them,_ and his conduct does not make mages look good. I have no problem with _what_ he did to those Templars, or for that matter with the fact that he had a riot put down, just how he did it.”

The priest considered that, nodding. “I see your point. Fortunate, then, that you are back.”

Caitlyn smiled grimly. “Well, I have work to do now to try to repair some of the damage, and I’d like to start at once. Let’s get the Healers out of the Circle and into the Chantry... and the outer Keep. Anders was most popular among the people as the Healer who stopped the flu outbreak. It’s a type of magic that most people like. Let’s showcase that.”

* * *

After the very long and trying day was _finally_ at an end, she had read to Mal and assured him that he would have a fun birthday feast the following day. She pulled Mal’s door closed and gazed down the hall. Unlike most ruling families, they did not have guards stationed outside everyone’s door during the night, but that was because Caitlyn and Anders had heavily warded every set of doors that led to the family quarters of the inner Keep. Other than Aveline, Donnic, and one or two others, she trusted her own magic—and her dog—more than she trusted the City Guard, what with its history of corruption, and Anders felt the same. It had the advantage of conferring more privacy on them, as well.

Anders was waiting at the end of the corridor, next to the doors of their bedroom. She approached him with a smile growing on her face. Despite the argument they’d had and the fact that they had not come to agree on the main point, despite the task that lay before her of cleaning up the mess he had made of Kirkwall, she had still missed him very much during the past two weeks. She reached him and drew very close, his eyes widening in surprise—but not rejection. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping his right arm around her to bring her close for a kiss.

“I thought you were still angry with me,” he said as they broke apart and shuffled into the room.

She closed the great doors, took his hand, and pulled him toward the bed. “I _am_ still somewhat angry with you. This has created quite a mess for me, and I wish you could understand why I feel as I do.”

He gazed at her. “I apologize for the trouble I created for you,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. She suppressed a sigh. He did mean it, and she was glad that he had said it, but he had conspicuously not said anything else. He really did think he was right to do most of it... _but,_ she thought, _I can’t control what he thinks. I’ve learned not to give him absolute power again, and he has recognized that a couple of things he did were wrong and apologized for the trouble. That matters. Even if we see the rest fundamentally differently, he at least recognizes that his view of it caused problems for me._

“Thank you,” she said in reply. “That means a lot to me. And whatever we disagree about, it has nothing to do with not loving or wanting you.” She sat on the mattress and drew him close, which he willingly allowed and soon joined, embracing her in return. “If I refuse you, it means I’m not in the mood that night—and that’s all it means. I would never use this part of our lives as a weapon to extort anything out of you.”

He smiled as they began to remove their clothes. “I love you,” he murmured, pulling her close even before her gown was off. “Never doubt that.”

“I have never doubted it since we reconciled three and a half years ago,” she said. “Not once.” She reluctantly broke away from his embrace and lifted her gown over her head, mussing her hair as she did. His eyes gleamed at the sight of her in her short, bare-shoulder chemise. He quickly hurried out of his coat and underclothes.

“I missed you,” he said, drawing her close and falling onto his side with her in his arms. They kissed quickly but intensely.

“I missed _you,”_ she replied. “We went two weeks without. And I’m going to show you how glad I am to see you... _infuriating_ as you can sometimes be.”

He laughed and allowed her to roll him onto his back.

* * *

Caitlyn wanted to take care of necessary business the next day before Mal’s birthday event. The first matter was Prince Sebastian. The Fereldans might put treaties of alliance to a vote of the full Landsmeet, but in Kirkwall, the ruler had more power, and Caitlyn did see the point of presenting a strong face—much as she deplored the way that Anders had done it, especially since that had not even been his original motive. This wouldn’t go to the full Small Council. She sent for Varric, who seemed the wisest choice for this. In a small room with only him, Anders, and herself, she had the prince brought to sit and talk.

Sebastian had been in a very comfortable suite, but Anders had ordered him locked there and forbidden him from going anywhere else, and he was still resentful. Caitlyn wondered for a moment if she had made a mistake in having Anders present at all, but she did want Varric there, and it might look questionable to have a close male friend but not her own husband.

“First, I apologize for your treatment,” she said to Sebastian. She hated saying it, but it was necessary. His face was black and blue, so something had happened. “What happened to your nose? Did my guards do that?”

“No, your husband hit me.”

Caitlyn turned to Anders, eyebrows raised, exasperation flooding her face.

“He said something horrible,” Anders began to object.

“Then you say something back to him! Maker’s flaming breath. Heal it.”

Anders could not look at either of them as he cast a healing spell. The ugly bruises lifted, though the prince’s nose was still a bit crooked.

Caitlyn continued. “I understand that you came seeking a truce. We are not at war, but obviously, Starkhaven and Kirkwall have not been on the best of terms lately. But I am returned now, so I hope you will speak freely with me. What were you offering in this truce?”

Sebastian glowered at Anders, then turned back to her. “I have been held as a prisoner here since my arrival. Not in a cell, at least, and I was well-fed, but I was nonetheless locked in that chamber at your husband’s orders. I am not well-disposed to your household right now, Your _Grace.”_ He suppressed a snarling sigh. “The terms of my offer are also advice for you as a ruler.”

Anders hissed under his breath and muttered something. Varric frowned at him, then at Sebastian for his presumption. Caitlyn too felt insulted by the arrogance of this... but better to hear what it was. It would at least give them an idea of how stubborn a rival he would prove to be.

“Kirkwall has a history of close ties with the Templar Order. If you formed a power-sharing agreement with the Knight-Commander, who is seen as a hero in Kirkwall even now, Starkhaven and Tantervale could suffer your—that is—” He broke off, stammering, suddenly blushing.

Caitlyn breathed heavily, trying not to erupt in anger. “Suffer my rule as a mage?” She glared at him. “Sebastian, it is not your place to dictate how I manage Kirkwall’s relationship with outside orders such as the Templars or with whom I ‘share power.’ Meredith Stannard in particular has behaved as an enemy to me, sending her favorites into the city to stir up discontent. She has overseen grotesque abuse in the Circle, and she accused me, my husband, and the Grand Cleric of deliberately provoking the Qunari in order to seize power!”

“That is similar to what you accused Elthina of doing.”

She glared at him, lifting her head and staring at him with a downward glance. “I wish you would accept the fact that we had evidence against Elthina. You do not believe it because you do not _want_ to believe it. She, too, by the way, speaks against me from afar. No, Sebastian, as long as you let her make pronouncements against me and my allies, we have nothing to discuss. You make unreasonable demands of me and offer nothing in return. At a minimum, I want her kept from writing to Meredith and from issuing condemnations of me before I consider _any_ terms—and the terms you named are unacceptable, anyway. I will not share power with Meredith Stannard.”

“Meredith and Elthina were colleagues for many years. It is not for me to stop her from writing to someone she knows so well. This is a term of my truce offer, but I am also advising you for your own good to make peace with the Knight-Commander, Your Grace. It would go a long way toward making others more comfortable with a mage ruling if....”

“If she had a Templar holding her leash,” Anders put in at last, unable to keep silent, his tone a sarcastic snarl. “You heard her. She said no.”

Sebastian turned to Varric in desperation. “You are a man of the world,” he said. “A pragmatist, a realist. Your people have no mages or Templars and thus no stake in the matter. Do you agree with this too?”

Varric eyed him warily. “I have to say, I wouldn’t consider it wise for a leader to ‘share power’ with someone who thinks she ought to be locked up. In my opinion, there’s no ‘sharing’ in that—or there quickly ceases to be.”

“Was this Elthina’s suggestion?” Caitlyn suddenly asked, the hunch entering her mind so strongly that she was sure it had to be true.

“She thought it a good idea to keep the peace... she just wants peace....”

Caitlyn rose to her feet, followed quickly by the other three. “So you are offering terms that would reduce my rule to nothing, a mere puppet of the one who would become the _real_ ruler, at the behest of someone who is writing to that person and, with her, inciting rebellion and sedition against me in Kirkwall. I’m no fool, Sebastian. That road leads to my premature death.”

Sebastian gasped in shock and indignation. “Elthina would never—”

“Elthina wouldn’t have to dirty her own hands. My answer is final: _absolutely not._ If this is your only offer, I think it best that you return to Starkhaven at once, Your Highness.”

* * *

“Well,” she said to Anders and Varric after he was sent back in a hurry, “I’m not saying that you were right to treat him as a hostage, but in a way, I’m actually glad that he didn’t have the chance to gather too much useful intelligence. Elthina, the Grand Cleric of Tantervale, and whoever their other allies are—they are playing him for a fool. Was he really so naïve as to not see the ultimate purpose of that ‘plan’?”

“I think he was that naïve,” muttered Anders. He gazed up at her. “Listen. It’s possible, even likely, that this was always what he came here to say, but if he had a better offer at first and chose not to mention it after.... Well, what I mean to say is, if my actions made it worse for you, I’m sorry again for that.”

Varric glanced approvingly at him for that apology.

She managed a weak smile for him. “Thank you. We’ll probably never know, but... thank you anyway.”

* * *

At last evening arrived, and the family could settle down for Mal’s party. The Amells and Leandra arrived at the Keep and were quickly welcomed into the family quarters, where Caitlyn, Anders, and their friends had piled Mal’s many gifts high. As the son of the Viscountess of Kirkwall, he had an order of magnitude more gifts for this birthday than he had ever had in his life, but most of them were from strangers seeking to cultivate his family and held little meaning for him. She was pleased that he valued the ones from friends and family so much more highly, even if they were less grand and expensive.

“I bought these for you in Denerim,” she explained to him, handing him her parcel, “and these are from the King and Queen of Ferelden.”

“They’re books,” he stated, observing the weight and shape of the royal gifts.

“They may be,” she agreed, “because I did tell them that you like to read.”

He smiled and opened his mother’s gifts first, eyes lighting up in delight at the sight of a set of miniature vials and safe herbal ingredients for potion-making. “This is like Father’s!” he exclaimed.

Anders leaned over. “Yes, they’re like the ones I use to make elfroot tonic!”

Caitlyn gazed fondly at her son as he next opened the gifts from Fenris and Isabela, a little wooden ship, complete with wooden captain and crew figures that could stand on their own. She gazed at the other gifts from her friends—from Varric, merchant figures and a cart with functioning wheels; from Merrill, a set of carved Dalish halla; from Aveline, metal soldiers. Anders had given him several things, but among them were a trio of mage dolls.

“You coordinated this!” she exclaimed to him, smiling.

Anders shrugged but did not deny it.

Mal beamed at his father, realizing it himself. “He did! You did, didn’t you, Father? You planned it out with everyone so that I could have a whole world to play with.”

 _A whole world to play with,_ she thought suddenly. _I have a city to “play with”... and possibly the fate of mages in southern Thedas._ As she met Anders’ gaze, she realized that he was thinking very similar thoughts—and that his gaze was wide and empathetic, as if he had just had an epiphany.

* * *

Late that night, after they had gone to bed, Anders turned to her, needing to talk. “I thought about everything,” he said in a low voice. “Maybe it was what he said, the innocent joy of a child, that made me realize it. Seven years,” he whispered, suddenly reaching out for her. She allowed him to pull her close and cuddled against him. “I still wish I could have been there for his birth. Seven years, eight since we met—and we’ve only been able to have half of that time together.”

“We have all of our lives ahead of us,” she said gently.

“And if I throw that away....” He trailed off darkly, shook his head, and continued. “I understand now. I understand about everything—everything that happened, everything that I did while you were gone. It seemed just to me at the time, but... even if it was, there are more important things.” He gazed at her with apologetic eyes. “I was wrong to prioritize raw, ‘perfect’ justice upon a few miscreants at the potential cost of a better world for all mages.”

She held him, closing her eyes.

“Those Templars deserved death... but I understand now what I did, by giving it to them the way I did. Politically and... otherwise. I thought it was justice... but... I did it, I did _all_ of it, not just the darkest thing, because it made me feel good. It wasn’t... _he_ wasn’t....” He suddenly burst into sobs.

Caitlyn held him tightly. “He is _not lost,”_ she told him. “You understand what happened and what he was at the time. That’s crucial to ensuring it doesn’t happen again. It was... a lapse. I don’t know if he is still anything like a distinct person, but either way, Anders, it was just a lapse. You are not lost and neither is he, however distinct he is.”

He was trying to stifle his sobs as she held him. _Three and a half years ago, I was the one barely holding together,_ she thought, caressing his head, _and he was there for me through it all. Now it is my turn._

“Anders,” she said gently, “I know it’s hard... but please remember that I am here for you.” She hesitated before continuing. “Inside this body is the same young mage who loved his freedom and then, through that freedom... however short it was then... found another love. We _still have that._ That’s _still_ you. And... also in this body is the same good spirit who found a despairing man in the Fade and saved his life, and then who defended a village against a tyrant who murdered them and trapped their souls there.”

He sobbed again before finally saying, brokenly, “That’s who we were. It’s not who we are anymore.”

She pulled him close, thinking of how to respond to that as she attempted to comfort him with her touch. Finally she said, “People change, yes. But the people we used to be are always a part of who we become.”

“And what have I become? I’m the tyrant now,” he whispered, “and I trapped _him_ where he cannot escape.”

“You are _not!”_ she exclaimed at once.

He lifted his head and gazed miserably at her. “Am I not? I did the very things that I hated having done to me, and to other mages, and called it justice. _Believed_ it was justice, too. I performed the Rite of Tranquility, the worst abuse of all. And you’ve worked so hard for the cause and now I’ve ruined everything you achieved.”

She took him firmly by the shoulders and stared at him. “Anders. You have done _no such thing._ I have to do some, er, cleanup, and there will need to be more olive branches offered to settle the city down, but I am still Viscountess and still have Fereldan allies. You haven’t ‘ruined everything.’”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I made things harder for you. I want to try to fix it.”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “I know what you can do. You are at your best, kindest, and most compassionate as a Healer. You haven’t had the chance to do that for a while due to our change in circumstances.”

“I miss the little clinic,” he confessed. “It was shabby, but it connected me and my magic to the people.”

“I thought you might have,” she said, gazing sympathetically at him. “The Grand Cleric has agreed with me to let some Healers work in the outer Keep rather than the Chantry. That will encourage those in the city who aren’t Andrastian, or who don’t always feel welcome in the Chantry like the elves of the alienage or the remaining Tal-Vashoth, to take advantage of mage healing too. I want you to oversee that. And do it, if you want. You can even have Mal watching... as long as he understands that he cannot practice it himself yet.”

Anders smiled, and it was a real smile this time. “He does. Someday that will be different... but that day is not here yet. I’ll be happy to do it. It’s great that you’re doing this so soon!”

“The city needs to see magic in a good light again,” she said wryly. She caressed his shoulders. “And you need to remember who and what you are, and not fall further into this black mood. Yes, you caused difficulties for me—but they can be overcome. What I can’t overcome is to lose you to your own fatalism or darkness.”

He held her tightly. “You won’t. We’re here for each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise there wouldn’t be any more verbal abuse between these two. Anders’ comment questioning whether she cares more about her power or the cause may come close, admittedly, but that’s why he apologized at once.
> 
> This is not all the _political_ fallout, though.


	15. Atrocities Done in His Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story, as always! There are some mentions of various things at the beginning of the chapter that don’t appear elsewhere in it, but do not worry; they’ll come up later.
> 
> Song is “Heresy” by Nine Inch Nails.
> 
>  **Warning:** Trigger warning for some really horrible views about rape expressed by a villainous character in this chapter.

Caitlyn gazed around the large room in the outer Keep that was now full of cots, potion bottles, glyphs on the walls—and mages. Several Circle Healers bustled about, as well as several more apprentices—including the young mage, Ella, who had been in the power of Alrik and his associates. She seemed to want to avoid Anders and was unwilling even to look him in the eye as he roved about, supervising the clinic.

“I think I frightened her,” he said quietly to Caitlyn when she approached him. “Justice was in control during the fight.”

She sighed. “Well, at least she came.”

“I hope that we can get the Circles opened up completely,” he said. “How is it right to ask people to be part of that place, their freedom dependent on the whims of a Grand Cleric, after escaping such a horrible fate? Especially since the person who turned a blind eye to it is still in charge!”

Caitlyn gave him a sad smile. “It’ll happen.” _How soon, I don’t know, but it will happen._

Anders gazed at his feet, seemingly aware of what she had not said. “It would have happened sooner if I hadn’t....” He broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind. What matters is making it right.”

She gave him a hug, unconcerned about showing emotion and affection in front of strangers as the Viscountess. Her love for her family was nothing to be ashamed of, and in any case, anything that made mages seem normal and kind was all to the good now.

Anders righted his posture and tightened the grip on his staff. Resolve filled his face. “I’ll do it, Caitlyn,” he promised. “I’ll make up for what I did.”

* * *

Between Aveline’s rigidly enforced curfews, the opening of the clinics in the Keep and the Chantry, and—at least to some—the return of their actual Viscountess to rule the city, Kirkwall began to settle down. The number of patients in the clinics gradually rose, as people who had been neither zealously pro- nor anti-mage, but _had_ been frightened and put off by Anders’ display of “justice,” became comfortable with the idea of exposing themselves to magic. Caitlyn was pleased; she knew that it probably would not be quite this simple, but any progress was good....

And then, a week following Caitlyn’s return, Mistress Selby requested a private audience with her and Anders, away from the Small Council.

“Meredith Stannard is increasing her patrols of the escape routes,” she informed them, scowling. “My people tell me that there’s a Templar they see prowling the tunnels almost every hour now.”

“Just the one?” Caitlyn said, confused.

“No, there are others, but this one is _always_ there. He seems ‘obsessed,’ I’m told.”

“Is it Mettin?” Caitlyn said with a glower.

Selby shook her head. “A bloke named Samson. Why? Does that mean something to you?” she added as Caitlyn and Anders exchanged significant glances.

Caitlyn took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Samson was a friend and partner of Thrask a few years ago in ferrying Circle escapees out of town.”

“He was actually handing them to slavers,” Anders put in, scowling.

“Yes,” Caitlyn acknowledged, “he was—but he wasn’t aware that his contact was a slave broker. He didn’t mean to do it. But you’re saying that he is now _apprehending_ apostates? And is obsessed with it, to the point of prowling the tunnels day and night?”

Selby considered that. “Well,” she said, her voice less aggrieved, “my people haven’t said as much. Perhaps he is doing it to misdirect the others.”

“It could be,” Caitlyn said encouragingly. “If he has switched his views so completely, I haven’t been told that by Thrask himself.”

“Would he be in a position to know?”

“I assume so. When did your people notice these changes—and Samson’s increased presence there?”

“A couple of days before your return. Basically around the same time that you executed those rapists,” she said to Anders.

“Then Meredith must have ordered increased patrols as revenge for it, and Samson likely took it upon himself to try to misdirect,” Caitlyn said. “Do let me know if you hear anything about him to the contrary, though. As much as this disgusts me, I can’t do anything to prevent Templars from carrying out their official duties... but Thrask needs to know if Samson _has_ turned. Otherwise he might continue to trust him, and mages could be in danger.”

“I’ll let you know if any of my people see or hear anything bad about him.”

* * *

“Are we absolutely sure that we can trust Thrask?” Anders asked late that night before they went to sleep.

“He told you about Alrik,” Caitlyn said. “He fought beside you. He has never been anything but an ally to us, Anders. And we don’t _know_ that there is anything amiss with Samson, for that matter.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “I guess I am just a little paranoid.”

She chuckled and drew close to him. “You have seen terrible things. Just don’t get  _too_ paranoid. We do have friends and allies. Not everyone is a foe, not even every Templar.”

“That’s also true,” he said. He returned her embrace. “The clinic in the Keep is doing well, but I am not sure that the poorest of the poor are actually making it inside. They should be _allowed,_ but I’m not certain that they have the courage to come. It’s unfortunate. They are welcome, and I want them to understand that.”

“Is there any way that you could send people into Darktown and Lowtown to let your old clients know?”

He considered it. “It’s possible. I’ll try that. Thanks, Caitlyn.” He gave her a brief but sweet kiss.

They rolled on their sides, him nestling her back against his chest as he held her close.

* * *

Caitlyn had completed her morning discussion with Aveline, Varric, Anders, and Merrill—a tradition that she wanted to establish quickly as Viscountess, so that she would not become too removed from what was going on in Kirkwall as Viscount Dumar had. The other members of her Small Council were also welcome to join in with information, but they had families or other duties, so they did not do so. Anders had nothing to report either, having spent the whole night and morning with Caitlyn, but Varric did, and his news was relevant to both of them.

“I overheard some people talking last night in the Hanged Man about staging a protest of the healing clinics,” he said grimly. “I wish the Grand Cleric was here, since it seems they’re planning one outside the Chantry too, but they seemed more... offended... about the clinic in the Keep.”

Anders had seemingly turned to stone. His voice was deadly cold as he spoke. “Are they planning to disrupt the Healers? I won’t tolerate it if so.”

“Nor will I,” Caitlyn said, her voice hard. She turned to Aveline. “The City Guard....”

“Will be present and prepared,” she said, her jaw set.

“On the day of the Kirkwall moot, a group of anti-mage protesters tried to block my entry to the Keep,” Caitlyn remembered. “They formed a human wall—and I do mean _human;_ there was not a single person of any other race there. I used a force spell to break it up... but it made me think, they might try to block patients from entering, or harass them, at the very least.”

“I will go out and _personally_ escort the patients inside if they dare try,” Anders vowed, “and Maker help any protester who tries to get in my way.”

Aveline scowled at him. “I don’t think  _you_ need to have anything to do with it, after what you did while Hawke was in Ferelden.”

Anders looked to object heatedly, but Caitlyn put up her hand. “I’m sorry, Anders, but I agree with her. You do not need to be seen engaging in any more violent actions against anti-mage people,  _especially_ using magic to do it. Escort patients whom these protesters harass, if you want, but let the City Guard deal with the protesters themselves.” She turned to Aveline. “You have my approval to use your judgment and to do anything you deem necessary.”

Anders looked momentarily dashed, but he quickly saw her point and nodded sheepishly in agreement, managing a smile for her.

After that, the quick meeting broke up, and they started the day in earnest. Caitlyn had a letter waiting from Hubert, the Orlesian who co-owned the Bone Pit Mine with her. He was complaining of the workers yet again, who were alleging sightings of a High Dragon circling around the mine occasionally, as if scoping it for a nest. He did not believe them and expected Caitlyn to use her newfound power to force them to work harder  _and_ to give him tax advantages. She had no intention of doing the latter and was far less inclined to dismiss the workers than he was, as well. Every time in the past that they had had complaints about predators, they had been correct. A High Dragon was hardly something that one could mistake, and if there indeed was one taking an interest in nesting in the area, it would be a disaster to ignore it.  _For the miners, for mine profits, and for political reasons,_ she thought, shuddering at the very idea of what her enemies would say if she “let” a High Dragon take up residence in a mine that she partially owned, almost certainly wiping out all the miners.

She made a note to look into it as soon as she could, writing back in very hard tones that she would  _not_ play favorites in the tax code and that she  _would_ listen to what the foreman said about the possible dragon. She folded and sealed the note, smiling in satisfaction at the use of the official Seal of Kirkwall for the job.  _If he has a problem with this,_ she thought, anger increasingly overtaking her as she remembered Hubert’s open, voiced disdain for Fereldans and contempt for his own workers,  _I’ll seize his shares in the mine on the basis of willful negligence. I’ll take full ownership through my newfound power._ The autocratic idea frightened her for a moment, but in the next moment, she felt a rush of pleasure at the thought.  _I understand you, Anders,_ she thought wryly.  _I understand very well indeed. There is pleasure in hard justice...._

“Mother?”

She looked up from the sealed note to face Mal. Fear filled his young face, and he was clutching Pounce in his arms as though for comfort.

“What’s the matter?” she said, rising from her seat immediately.

“The new clinic,” he said. “People are bothering Father and the other Healers. And Aveline is really angry....”

_They wasted no time, then,_ she thought. She headed out of her office and downstairs to the ground level of the outer Keep, making sure to grab her staff.

Shouts sounded through the Keep walls on the ground floor. The clinic itself was inviolate, but Anders was nowhere to be found inside. Her dog approached, barking in recognition and alarm.

“Your Grace,” said one of the Healers, “your lord husband insisted on going outside to deal with them beside the Guard-Captain!”

Caitlyn closed her eyes in exasperation. “Watch my son,” she ordered him. “Mal—stay with these mages. Do not leave the clinic!”

She rushed toward the steps, holding her staff out, ready to give Anders a piece of her mind.  _He deliberately disregarded what I wanted,_ she thought in anger as she flung open the doors.

“The magister Viscountess herself!” screamed a protester at her appearance.

It was not violent. Aveline, Donnic, and several other guards had formed a barrier between the group of protesters—some twenty-odd, Caitlyn guessed—and the Keep, and no one was exchanging blows. The protesters were merely shouting their invective.

Unfortunately, Anders was shouting back.

“That’s sedition!” he snarled at the one who had insulted Caitlyn. “You had better hold your tongue before she orders your arrest!”

The woman sneered back but did fall silent as Caitlyn glared at her. Then she turned to Anders, frowning. “You should come back to the clinic,” she told him, not wanting to scold him in front of these people. “I’m sure that the Guard-Captain has it in hand.”

He glared out of the corner of one eye at the assembled protesters, but just for a moment. In the next, regret filled his face as he realized that she was not happy with him for doing this.

In that space of time, another protester spoke up. “According to the  _true_ Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, who continues to serve Andraste from exile, this clinic is an act of support for apostasy! The one in the Chantry is ‘questionable,’ since they don’t have to return to the Circle at night, but one here in the Keep, supervised by an apostate and a Grey Warden who used to be an apostate, is a grievous insult to the Maker! Such are her inspired words—”

With every word the man spoke, Caitlyn’s anger had risen, but now, it towered higher than the Sundermount itself. “The words of a defrocked traitor are not  _inspired,”_ she snapped. “According to the  _Chantry itself,_ not even a real Grand Cleric speaks ‘inspired’ words, just the Divine!”

“I don’t need a jumped-up Fereldan apostate to tell me who speaks for the Maker,” sneered the man. “Grand Cleric Claremonde of Tantervale and Grand Cleric Elthina declare that these mages and those who empower them are damned to the Void! So are the people who let them work their magic on their bodies! Their work is cursed! _You!”_ he roared at a heavily pregnant woman who was approaching the steps. “You will be damned if you come in, and so will your baby!”

The woman was startled by the menacing protester and his associates, who began immediately to crowd her. It was the last straw for Caitlyn.

“You are under arrest!” she snarled, swinging her staff in front of her at an angle, threatening him. “Aveline, Donnic—bring him in, and any who try to help him!” She whirled to face Anders, begging him silently to help the woman in labor instead of involving himself in the confrontation. Mercifully, he understood what she wanted and obliged, stepping down the stairs to take the woman’s arm and guide her through the angry throng into the Keep.

Aveline had immediately, professionally, directed her guards to arrest the belligerent man, charging him with specific offenses to ensure that it was legal and proper. The woman who had called Caitlyn a “magister Viscountess” moved to aid him, and Donnic took her into custody too. The rest of the group tensed and looked to stage a revolt as two of their number were arrested.

Caitlyn reacted instantly. She formed a ball of magical energy above her open left palm. It was just a spell wisp, but it was menacing to those who did not know that, especially since a tendril of glowing white magic connected it to the tip of her staff and crackled like a bolt of lightning. “Move off,” she ordered the protesters. “I  _order_ you to leave  _now_. If you don’t, I will have the Guard arrest every last one of you—and if you  _still_ resist, you might get hurt. Maybe the guards will be the ones to do that... or maybe  _I_ will.”

The remaining protesters exchanged dark, angry glares with each other, but they did not fight. Muttering among themselves, several of them spitting on the steps, they dispersed as the guards hauled the two belligerents away.

Caitlyn stood on the steps, staring into space, thinking about what had just happened.  _They were threatening patients,_ she thought.  _They were interfering with healing, interfering with a clinic approved by the rightful Grand Cleric, and speaking sedition and heresy into the bargain. I had every right to do what I just did—and unlike Anders, I didn’t shed any blood to do it. I had to do it. That was not an abuse of power. Patients in need depended on it. I didn’t act out of intoxication with my own authority._

She breathed deeply before heading inside, wondering why she did not quite believe herself.

* * *

“You need to tell Leliana about this,” Anders urged her later that day. “I’m usually not interested in Chantry politics, but it’s important for us to have people in power who are basically on our side, and if that man’s words can be believed, Starkhaven and Tantervale—and Elthina—are close to open revolt against Justinia. I don’t think the words of _any_ mortal are ‘inspired’ by the Maker... even Andraste,” he said with a smirk, “which makes me a heretic, but you’re right, it’s _also_ heresy to claim that about a priest. That’s even heresy in the Black Chantry. They say it because they don’t recognize Justinia’s authority due to the views she supposedly holds.”

“It does sound that way,” Caitlyn agreed. “I’ll write to Leliana about this. She may have other ways of knowing what is coming out of the ‘northern alliance,’ but if she doesn’t know about this, she needs to.”

He gazed ahead, then turned suddenly to her. “Thank you for speaking some sense to me, too. I would have fought with them, I think. Thank you for reminding me, without words, of my real responsibility.”

Guilt flooded her at this. “Anders,” she burst out, “what do you think of what  _I_ did?”

“Ordering the arrest of that obnoxious man?” he said. “I think you did what you had to. You’re the Viscountess of Kirkwall. You don’t need to engage in arguments with zealous fools who don’t respect you.”

“I didn’t think of what, exactly, to arrest him for,” she admitted. “I realize, in retrospect, that there were all sorts of things—disturbing the peace, inciting unrest, harassing people, and, yes, sedition. But at the moment, I just wanted him behind bars. I just wanted to exert power over him and the others who were defying and insulting us.”

Anders considered that. “That’s the very thing that troubled me about... about doing the Rite of Tranquility,” he said, still ashamed of it. “I had Alrik in my power and I enjoyed it. He deserved severe punishment, and some people would even say that he deserved the Rite... I’m not sure, even now, how I feel about that... but I know why I really did it. I understand how you feel, love.”

“Does it make us as bad as the enemy?” she whispered. “Does it mean... Maker curse me for even thinking this... that maybe the other side has a point? Maybe mages _can’t_ be trusted with power?”

He held her tightly and rested his head atop hers. “I’ve asked myself that very question,” he said, “and what I think is that  _people_ are all prone to being tempted with power. It’s not just mages—and what you did, ordering his arrest, didn’t involve magic. It was something any ruler could have done.”

“I menaced the others with magic after you went inside the Keep. It was only a spell wisp, but the point was to intimidate them with my powers as a mage to get them to leave.”

“But the fact that you did choose a non-offensive spell proves that you... well, that you acquitted yourself far better than I did,” he said quietly. “And you did it so that they would leave _without_ violence. You don’t need to worry, Caitlyn.” He smiled at her. “You’re not a tyrant. And the fact that you’re questioning yourself like this, without scolding or prompting from others, and over far less than what I did, means that you’re much farther from _being_ a tyrant than I am.”

“You’re not one either,” she told him.

“I was while you were gone,” he said quietly, looking away. “Even if the people I punished deserved it, I _was_ a tyrant. Both things can be true. Please, don’t absolve me of it now. You were right to admonish me, to be angry with me.” He faced her again. “You did nothing wrong today. Justice would tell you if you had!” A weak smile graced his face. “And he _is_ Justice. I’ve tried to make sure of that.”

She considered that, nodding at last.

* * *

The following day, Petrice issued a proclamation, which was posted in written form outside the Chantry on the Chanter’s Board, the seal of the Grand Cleric pressed into the wax affixing a crimson-and-gold ribbon to the document.

 

_The words of Our Lady Andraste, Prophet and Bride of the Maker, state that “magic is meant to serve man.” It is the proclamation of the Chantry of Kirkwall that it pleases the Maker for mages to use their magic lawfully to serve man. By Divine fiat, mages of the Grey Wardens may serve man outside the Circles due to their exceptional and selfless heroism against a grave evil. Following this precedent, by the authority of Petrice, Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, the Viscountess is another such mage who has been blessed to serve man outside a Circle due to her moral life and selfless heroism against a grave evil._

_It is further the proclamation of this Chantry that the sanctuaries of magical healing and the services of mages who provide magical support to the City Guard are, provided that the mages act with honor, holy exercises of Our Lady’s command regarding magic, as shall be any future benevolent activities for mages approved by this Chantry._

_Finally, it is further the proclamation of this Chantry that it is a perversion of the faith for man to prevent, or attempt to prevent, mages from using their magic to serve man. Let it be known that those who interfere with holy uses of this gift anger the Maker, and any who shed innocent blood to do so also break the command against bringing “harm to the least of these” and risk eternal damnation to the Void._

 

“Well,” Caitlyn said to Anders after the Chantry messenger brought the word and a copy of the proclamation to the Keep, “I don’t know what to think of that. It’s good that she did this without being asked... though obviously, she sees another threat to herself, which is probably the primary reason. But this bit about ‘heroism against a grave evil’... I don’t like the Qun, but that’s awfully extreme. Comparing the Qunari to the darkspawn?”

“And all this religious talk,” he said. “It’s clear that she only approves of mages who are devout Andrastians... or aren’t _publicly_ heretical.”

“She _is_ a priest,” she said, as if to persuade herself. “It only makes sense that she would write this document and defend her position in religious terms. It’s not her duty to make the _general_ case for mage rights. That’s our job! We’re the ones who speak for everyone.”

_“You_ are the one,” he said, a gentle smile adorning his face. “Not me. But I appreciate that you consider me that anyway!”

“You’re my partner,” she said, smiling back. “Sometimes I forget that we don’t actually rule together in the law. But... yes. It’s our job to make a case that doesn’t require a religious defense, but for the sake of people who do need to be assured that the Chantry approves too, it’s good that she did this.”

“That’s true,” he said, “but... she also seems to imply that mages _do_ need to be in Circles unless they ‘prove’ themselves. That doesn’t square with what she claimed to us about accepting mages outside the Circles as an Orlesian noble. I wonder, now, what she would think about Mal if she knew the truth.”

“She has acknowledged the importance of family, though. That was a reform order, that Circle mages had the right to family visits and family contact. And she has never spoken against my parents. This is a political document. She can’t sound like she wants to dissolve the Circles. This language about ‘serving man’ being a justification to live outside a Circle opens the door to major reform. Lots of activities can serve man, and this document establishes that precedent very clearly. It opens the door and could make that change, the Circles as just a temporary school for mage children who don’t have other tutors—or adult scholars who _want_ to be there—more palatable to most people by gradually introducing the idea that most mages _need_ to be outside Circles for their magic to truly serve man.”

Anders considered that. “You have a lot of faith in the idea of steady, peaceful political reform. I hope you’re right. I mean that sincerely; it’s so much _nicer_ when change happens peacefully.”

“Anders, look what happened when you tried to foist a radical, unexpected use of magic on people. A lot of them _rioted._ We have to try this way.”

He chuckled sheepishly. “I concede the point.”

“Good,” she said, smirking at him.

Anders reached for her hand and took it in a possessive, but tender, grip, rubbing her palm with his thumb. “And I do understand that this is a political document. She had to issue it because of the clerics in the northern cities.”

The smile left Caitlyn’s face. She rolled up the proclamation. “I wish Justinia would take strong action against that. I understand why she has been reluctant to, since she thinks she may be surrounded by people who oppose her, but she  _will_ need to act eventually... or they will act first.”

He met her gaze with his, and the same dark fear and terrible foresight that filled her face also filled his.

* * *

_A few days later._

Caitlyn slammed the paper down in outrage and turned to her Small Council, not even trying to hide her anger. “This is from Alistair and Anora. In Ferelden,” she clarified. “Sebastian has placed sanctions on Fereldan imports, and Tantervale is with him. For allying with Kirkwall!”  _Or with me, a mage._

The members of the Council glowered, especially those who were Ferelden-born or had lived there for years. “Is it just to inform you of that?” asked Ser Marlein, trying to keep her temper even though she was not Fereldan. “Or was there something that they wanted?”

“I can read between the lines that they expect increased trade to make up for it,” she said, “which is fine. We have a preferential trade agreement now. The people should actually see food prices decrease this summer, since so much comes from the Fereldan Bannorn. But that’s not enough! I’ll do even more than he did! I’ll put a full embargo on Starkhaven and Tantervale for fomenting rebellion here!” _And as retaliation,_ she thought. She exchanged a quick look with Anders. He knew that was the other part, and he did not mind.

Ser Marlein, Varric, and Aveline exchanged glances, and then the noblewoman spoke again. “This is the Small Council. We took oaths to speak of what is said here to no one else and in front of no one else. Your Grace... speaking freely... do you see a path to war?”

Caitlyn breathed heavily, closing her eyes in dread at the mere idea. She considered her words carefully before opening her eyes again and answering. “There is a path,” she admitted. “That path leads through high ranks of the Chantry,” she said with a glance of apology to Petrice. “If the northern clerics continue to communicate with Meredith and whoever else is organizing the continual unrest, the protests, the speech to undermine and delegitimize me—”

“And me,” put in the priest.

“And you,” she agreed, “then... war may arrive at our door even if we don’t want it. Eventually the discontent could boil over into violence.”

“Why won’t the Divine do something?” asked Ser Marlein. “She could dismiss the Grand Cleric of Tantervale. She could sack Meredith Stannard and any Knights-Divine who back Meredith.”

“Apparently, the Knight- _Vigilant_ backs Meredith,” Caitlyn admitted reluctantly, “and so does the Lady Seeker. There are others too, highly ranked people. The Divine isn’t sure which of these people are part of a rebellion and which ones are just very conservative, and she does not want to act until she knows who her real enemies are. That’s what my contact tells me, anyway.”

Ser Marlein turned back to Caitlyn. “Your Grace, if this is the path to war that you foresee, that is dark indeed. That encompasses more than a couple of cities attacking us. That could mean....” She trailed off.

“It could mean a second schism in the Chantry,” Petrice said baldly.

“And the first one resulted in an Exalted March against Tevinter that failed to reunite the schismatics.”

Caitlyn exchanged a glance with Anders and her close friends before responding to that. “So long as Divine Justinia remains in the Sunburst Throne,  _they_ would be the schismatics this time, not us, and they don’t have the magical power that the Tevinters had to resist that Exalted March. Should they... depose her...” she said delicately, “obviously our position becomes extremely bad. I wish she would act too, but I understand why she hasn’t. We need to try to contain the problem ourselves as much as we can, hence retaliatory sanctions, strong alliances, Circle reforms that bypass Meredith and make her irrelevant, and the rule of law in the city to suppress insurrection if it rears its head.”

They took this all in. Finally Mistress Selby spoke up. “What about the Orlesian alliance? Comte de Launcet has been gone for nearly a month.”

“I’m worried about him,” Caitlyn confessed. “That part of the Waking Sea isn’t known for storms, but... I hate to even say it, but a lot can happen to ships, not just bad weather. In Ferelden... King Maric was lost at sea and they never learned where....”

Grim expressions filled all of their faces. “Let’s pray that nothing like that has happened,” said Ser Marlein. “He’s not  _late_ to return... yet.”

* * *

The answer finally came that very day with the arrival of the Kirkwall ship that bore the Comte. He was shown to the Keep quickly, though it was apparent that his news was not good.

“Your Grace, my lord,” he said to Caitlyn and Anders, his tone deeply apologetic, “I beg forgiveness. Empress Celene did not sign a treaty of alliance despite my best efforts to persuade her.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes in dismay and disappointment. They were seated at the grand conference table of the Small Council, just the three of them, and Anders was able to take her hands comfortingly under the table and caress them. It helped a little bit. She opened her eyes and faced the man again.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “You did your best, and I don’t doubt you for a moment. Alliances are never guaranteed, especially when we are clearly the side that benefits most. Kirkwall... doesn’t really have much to offer Orlais, after all,” she said, trying to keep her disappointment in check by rationalization. “It wasn’t like Ferelden, which is very close—and poor, and recovering from a disaster.”

“Her Majesty wished you well in your rule,” he said feebly. “She was... very polite. Her court treated me as an honored guest. I have nothing to complain of in that regard... but in the end, she would not agree to a treaty. I suppose she was thinking of politics at home, that ambitious cousin de Chalons, and such. Didn’t want to take Kirkwall’s fraught politics on as well.”

“I’m sure that was it,” Caitlyn said. She sighed. “Thank you for trying, my lord. Now, go see your family. You’ve been away from them for a month. Visit your son, too; the Circle mages are already starting to see their lives change from the reforms.”

“Oh?” he said, hope filling his face at that.

“Yes. There are healing clinics open in the Keep and the Chantry, and Ser Aveline is looking over battlemage applicants to assist the City Guard.”

The smile wavered for a moment before fading. “All due respect to both of you, but while I was in Orlais, I heard... well... that you put some Templars to death as Regent, while Her Grace was in Ferelden,” he said to Anders.

Anders tensed. “They performed the Rite of Tranquility after it was banned and abused their power to violate Tranquil mages afterward,” he said. “And by ‘violate,’ I mean—yes, you know what I mean,” he said as Comte de Launcet blanched.

“Well,” he said, “that’s despicable—but I should warn you, there were some high in the Chantry in Val Royeaux who heard a, ah, distorted version of it, I think it must have been, because they were very displeased indeed. And....” He gulped.

Caitlyn was suddenly on alert. “And?” she said, eyebrows up.

“The Knight-Vigilant and a high-ranked Seeker followed my ship,” he burst out. “Their ship is probably close to making port right now.”

Caitlyn and Anders rose sharply from their seats, followed at once by the Comte. “Did Divine Justinia send them?” she demanded. “What purpose do they have for coming here?”

“I don’t think Her Perfection sent them,” he said, his voice becoming weak. “I think they want to question Your Grace about what happened.”

“Maker’s flaming breath!” exclaimed Caitlyn in fury. She breathed hard. “The Knight-Vigilant upheld Meredith’s appeal of her dismissal, so I know what he generally thinks and I appreciate your warning. You’ve earned time with your family, my lord. My husband and I—and the Grand Cleric, if they have a problem with her too—will handle these people.”

As the Comte hurried out of the Keep in relief, Anders turned to her, his face darkened with angry resolve. “Do you want me there?” he asked in a low voice. “If you don’t, I won’t take offense. I understand. It’s probably my fault, in part, that he wasn’t able to get an alliance with Orlais, since they heard something about my ‘regency’ there.”

She considered. “You should be at this meeting. You did it, after all! It would be strange if you weren’t there to speak. I’ll invite Mother, Uncle Gamlen, and Charade to the Keep to spend time with Mal.”

* * *

Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch was a middle-aged Templar whose appearance was nondescript, neither handsome nor ugly, nor bearing any unique characteristics. Even in his Templar armor—had it not borne the ornamentation of his high station—he was the sort of person that Caitlyn would have passed on the street of Kirkwall without a second glance, if not for the fact that he was glaring at her and Anders as if they were particularly loathsome insects, perhaps a pair of mosquitoes engorged with blood, disgusting and harmful but still easy to swat.

“This is Seeker Lambert van Reeves,” Trentwatch said tightly when he was shown to the Keep, introducing the other man with him, an older man with a grayish-blond beard. “We are here to discuss the extremely disturbing rumors that we heard in Val Royeaux concerning the actions of _that_ mage”—he sneered at Anders, not acknowledging his marriage, his title of consort, or even his status of semi-retired Grey Warden—“against Templars of Kirkwall.”

Caitlyn tried to keep her temper from bursting out. “Ser Trentwatch,” she said, “we will gladly explain what happened, what my husband did as the lawful Regent of Kirkwall while I was in Ferelden, and _why_ he did it. I doubt that the rumors reflect the truth once they are as far away as Val Royeaux.”

“Are you here on behalf of Divine Justinia?” Anders demanded. Caitlyn tried to suppress a sigh. She was becoming frustrated with Justinia’s slowness and timidity, but she did not distrust this Divine’s good intentions. Anders, it seemed, still did, as he was unable to fully trust any Chantry person or Templar.

Trentwatch glowered. “We are not. We are not acting _against_ her orders, mind, so don’t get any _ideas,_ but she did not order us here.”

“What do you mean, ‘ideas’?” Caitlyn said in hard, suspicious tones. The Knight-Vigilant surely knew of the covert rebellion in the Chantry. Was this his attempt to convince her that they were not part of it? Did he somehow know that she was a correspondent of Justinia’s Left Hand?

“The Knight-Vigilant means that you have no grounds to assume that we are defying the Divine,” said the Seeker, Lambert van Reeves. “As a Seeker, it is my duty to investigate incidents such as this one.”

“Did Lady Seeker Nicoline send you?” Caitlyn asked him.

He clammed up at once. “Your questions presume upon the authority of the Seeker Order, Viscountess.”

“I fail to see how it presumes anything to ask if your superior sent you.”

“We have our secrets, and _you_ are not obligated to know of them.”

“What rumors _did_ you hear in Val Royeaux?” Caitlyn finally burst out. “Forgive me,” she said sarcastically, “but unless the rumors have diverged so greatly from the truth that the cause of my husband’s actions against certain Templars isn’t even explained, or has a false explanation, I find it a little _peculiar_ that two men would not want to acknowledge the role of a woman in this investigation, if the Lady Seeker did have one.”

Van Reeves bristled defensively at this, but Trentwatch sneered dismissively at Caitlyn and Anders. “I will not say anything more until certain other people have been called to a private conference about this.”

“Who?” Caitlyn barked.

“The new Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, for one,” Trentwatch replied, “as well as the Knight-Commander and Knight-Captain. As the leader of all Templars of the true Chantry, I insist upon the presence of the latter two.”

She exchanged a look with Anders. His face bore the same irritation, moral contempt, and—yes—fear that she felt within herself. Suddenly, with the arrival of these people, almost all of the frustration that Caitlyn had felt with Anders in the miserable business had fled, replaced with the solidarity of mutual indignation against these two.

With a silent sneer that nonetheless spoke volumes, Caitlyn rose from her seat to send messengers to the Chantry and the Gallows.

* * *

If Caitlyn had not been in a state of anger and indignation, this would have been an exceedingly awkward and uncomfortable meeting. This Templar had backed Meredith, blatantly diminishing Petrice’s authority early in her tenure as Grand Cleric of Kirkwall—but both women were present. Cullen had not been Acting Knight-Commander when Alrik’s evil had come to light, but there had been a time briefly when he had held that authority. And, of course, Caitlyn and Anders knew that they were “on trial” more than anyone else. Meredith had already declared, during the spectacle of her temporary sacking, that Petrice was “compromised” by her alliance with Caitlyn, thereby casting mages as the prime villains of the piece— _as usual,_ she thought bitterly.

But as it was, she knew something that gave her a surfeit of courage—and she could tell, from the expression of determination on Anders’ face, that he felt the same. The Seeker and Knight-Vigilant were not here to express concerns about Anders’ specific _methods_ of dealing with the rapists. They were not here to scold him for doing political damage to the cause of mage rights by using his magic vindictively. They were here because they had a problem with the fact that he had punished Templars _at all,_ and Caitlyn was determined to defend him to the utmost against that.

“The ascension of this Viscountess was already very irregular,” Trentwatch declared. “She was not a native-born Kirkwaller, and she became the leader after only, I believe, four years as a resident, two of which are shrouded in mystery, since she lived in the poor district in a shanty. I heard rumors, in fact, that she was little more than hired muscle for these years—or, rather, hired _magic_. Certainly not a noble.” He sneered, gesturing at Caitlyn as if she were an errant child or a prisoner, rather than Kirkwall’s lawful head of state.

Her anger churned within her like magma in a volcano, but she managed to keep it in check for the most part. “Ser Trentwatch,” she said icily, “my life history is frankly none of the Templar Order’s concern. My uncle had lost the family estate and Kirkwall treated Fereldan refugees from the Blight abominably, forcing us to scrape for food and impose on the charity of relatives if we were lucky, as I was. I regained the manor, made myself a leader, renewed noble acquaintances of my lady mother’s family, and was chosen as the Viscountess in a moot of gentlefolk of Kirkwall. You have no right to question Kirkwall’s governance, so I advise you to get to your actual point.”

Trentwatch was extremely offended at being challenged. His nostrils flared, and his lips curled in anger. “I mention this because your background _does_ have bearing on the events I am here to discuss. Your so-called husband—”

Anders shifted abruptly in his seat, looking as if he wanted to leap across the table and throttle Trentwatch with his bare hands, never mind using magic. Caitlyn interrupted the Templar at once. “We were married by a priest— _this_ priest, in fact—and swore our vows before the Maker and many witnesses, including our son and all of my living relatives except my cousin. He is not ‘so-called,’ and if you cannot be civil, I will dismiss this conference whether you have finished speaking or not. You are here as my guest, Ser Trentwatch.”

Across the table, Meredith was smirking broadly. Cullen was ashamed and uncomfortable that a Templar was behaving this way. The Seeker, van Reeves, was utterly stone-faced. Petrice was scowling, but her anger was not as acute as Caitlyn’s and Anders’.

Trentwatch huffed. _“He_ acted as Regent while you were in Ferelden, procuring an alliance, we now know. And as Regent, he did something that is without precedent, accusing, trying, and executing Templars under the secular law of Kirkwall. We are deeply concerned about this.”

“Who are ‘we’? You and the Seeker?” Anders blurted out. “I tried them under city law because they committed criminal offenses under city law. Unless you are claiming that Templars like yourself are above the law.”

“The men in question behaved evilly and abjured their oaths as Templars by their actions,” Petrice said coolly. “I stripped them of their titles and exiled them from the order before turning them over to the civil authorities.”

“The civil authorities!” Trentwatch scoffed. “You mean this mage, who has not a drop of Marcher blood, from what I hear, and was occupying the seat temporarily as a convenience to his wife!”

“When Kirkwall made me Viscountess, it gave me the authority to designate my own Regent to act with the full power of the high position itself,” Caitlyn said. “Again, it is none of your concern how Kirkwall is governed. I will not warn you again. Next time you forget yourself, this talk is over.”

“Nonetheless,” put in Lambert van Reeves, “it is unheard of for Templars to be put on trial and executed in this manner. It would be unheard of if _you_ had done it, Viscountess Hawke.”

“I told the mage Regent as much when he and the Guard-Captain, another Fereldan import, I might add, marched them into my office, handcuffed and disarmed like common criminals,” said Meredith, enjoying this greatly.

“I am Fereldan,” Cullen said quietly, looking down, unable to face his boss.

“Their actions warranted it,” Caitlyn said. She leaned forward on the table. “I don’t know what rumors are making the rounds in Val Royeaux, but you came this great distance to talk about whatever you heard with me, and it may be that you have not heard the truth yet. I will give it to you, if you are willing to hear and accept it as the truth.”

Trentwatch and van Reeves sat back in their chairs, crossing their arms, scowling but listening.

Caitlyn took a deep breath. “Before I even became Viscountess, Grand Cleric Petrice made several moderate reforms to Kirkwall’s Circle. There has been a history of grave abuse of the Rite of Tranquility in this Circle by rogue Templars, so to be safe, she banned its use in this Circle completely, as is her prerogative. There are no situations that mandate it, after all; it has always been up to the discretion of individual Circles when to use it, and she decided that the most just option, given the history of abuse here, was to forbid it altogether—as she said when she gave the order, to give even provably criminal mages the opportunity to seek absolution with the Maker of their own free will.” She glared at the Orlesians, then at Meredith. Cullen looked too ashamed to face anyone. “The Templars that my husband investigated were found to have been violating the Grand Cleric’s order flagrantly. They were also found to have been abusing their authority and abusing the terrible condition of the Tranquil, selecting pretty young female mages for it and then forcing themselves on them. Raping them,” she added in hard tones.

Cullen closed his eyes in misery.

“And rape is a capital offense in Kirkwall,” Anders said harshly. “If Templars who have committed rape before have never been punished for it, that just means that the Circles failed at policing them. It doesn’t mean that it’s right.” He scowled, meeting Cullen’s eyes briefly as the Knight-Captain looked up. Caitlyn wondered momentarily what they were each thinking. Anders had told her that Cullen had never personally mistreated him, but that he had been terrified of magic and of his charges, despite harboring a fancy for a female mage—who ended up being made Tranquil and then dying horribly. “The leader of this group, a Templar named Otto Alrik, I personally heard saying to a young mage, ‘Once you’re Tranquil, you’ll do anything I ask’ and ‘You know what happens to mage girls who don’t toe the line around here.’ It was obvious what he intended, and after we took them into custody, we learned more about the mages who had already suffered his barbarities. He and his comrades were unquestionably guilty of both offenses, one of which is punishable by death here. No one is beyond the reach of justice.”

“He speaks the truth,” Petrice said. “They broke city law and defied my order as the rightful Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, appointed by the Divine.”

“We hope that this clarifies matters for you, Knight-Vigilant, Ser Lambert,” Caitlyn said with a smile that was a mask.

Trentwatch paused for a moment before replying. Contempt poured from his voice in waves as he did. “It does ‘clarify’ matters,” he spat. “The account that reached Orlais did not specify exactly what the Templars were claimed to be guilty of. But this is ultimately irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Anders burst out in outrage.

“Irrelevant,” Trentwatch said, his eyes narrowed. “It is questionable that a Grand Cleric truly has the authority to ban a recognized Chantry rite locally in the first place. They certainly do not have the right to ban the rites that the Chantry employs for laypeople. No Grand Cleric can declare, for instance, that because adultery is commonplace in her city, no priest may perform the rite of matrimony. Therefore Grand Cleric Petrice’s order is highly dubious.”

“Chantry rites for the laity and clergy are intended to encourage reverence for the Maker and a _freely chosen_ moral life. This is a rite that abolishes the capacity of a person to revere or choose anything,” snapped Petrice. “The Qunari, who murdered scores here, force the faces of dissidents into a poison to take away their free will, because unlike those who follow the Maker and recognize it as one of His gifts, they think free will is bad. As the Viscountess said, the Rite of Tranquility is never _required_ to be performed, and I made the decision that it will not be here. If the Divine thinks this was the wrong decision, let her speak. _Your_ opinion is not the mortal voice of Andraste.”

Caitlyn stole a glance at Anders. She knew that his views were not informed by Andrastian doctrine, but rather, by the naturalistic logic that the Maker bestowed the gift of magic upon mages, along with the same inborn rights that everyone else had, and that it wasn’t for others to suppress the Maker’s design. The religious component was that simple for him; he had no concern for whether it advanced Andrastianism for mages to have greater rights. He was taking this without the slightest hint of impatience, however.

“The Divine has not moved to overrule your order, it is true, Grand Cleric,” Trentwatch reluctantly admitted. “But as the mage consort said, the Templars were executed for claimed violations of criminal law. That is the crux of the issue, and this is much clearer than your order. To be perfectly frank, these Templars could not have been guilty of raping mages. It is impossible.”

“My team and I found proof that they were!” Anders exploded. “I caught them in the act of threatening to do it to another mage who would have been a victim if we hadn’t been there!”

“You misunderstand. Rape is the act of forced intercourse after consent was refused.” Exclamations of protest and outrage erupted from Caitlyn and Anders at this, but Trentwatch continued relentlessly. “The Tranquil cannot refuse; therefore, they cannot be raped, and furthermore, neither can Circle mages, since the Templar Order has total authority over them and they do not have the right to refuse any command.”

The table practically erupted. Cullen grimaced and stared at the Knight-Vigilant in dismay and disappointment. Caitlyn and Anders leaped from their seats, shouting in fury, and even Petrice was speaking very loudly against this.

“That is little different from what the Qunari do to their women or their reasons for it!” she exclaimed.

“Slave owners use that same ‘reasoning’!” exploded Anders at the same time, standing by his seat, faint white crackles visible just above his coat collar.

Caitlyn managed to shout above them, also standing menacingly. “You are _wrong,_ and your views are evil!” she roared. “Rape only requires the _absence_ of consent, not an explicit refusal!” She sat down, followed by Anders. In desperation and, perhaps, wild hope, she turned to Meredith as the din quieted. “You and I disagree on... many things... but as a woman, you cannot possibly agree with or support this! Can you?”

The Knight-Commander shifted in her seat. She was, for once, visibly uncomfortable with the turn of the discussion. She hesitated, scowling at the tabletop. A few seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity. Then she looked up. Her gaze was stone. “I am a Templar, a servant of the Maker, before I am a woman,” she said.

Caitlyn tried to keep her jaw from dropping in shock and dismay, though she could not keep her eyes from widening. She was stunned into momentary silence.

“You think it serves the Maker to commit rape?” exclaimed Anders.

“It is not rape,” Trentwatch insisted.

Caitlyn was still too horrified and furious to speak. Meredith had not explicitly _backed_ the Knight-Vigilant’s definition of rape, but she had shown where her loyalties lay and whose side she took. _Even if she doesn’t agree with him about that definition, she backs him because they are on the same side on everything else. They hate the same people and she’ll overlook outright evil for that._ It sickened her. It nauseated her.

“The Knight-Vigilant has given the position of the Templar Order,” Seeker van Reeves said, his tone supercilious.

Cullen spoke up, apparently unable to tolerate this any longer. “I disagree with him,” he said, surprised momentarily at his own daring as he managed to make eye contact with Meredith and hold his gaze. “I agree with Viscountess Hawke about the definition of rape. Since Tranquil cannot feel emotion, they cannot _give_ consent, so any such... treatment... of them would always be rape, in fact. Furthermore,” he said, his voice becoming stronger, “Templars do not have unlimited authority over mages. We do not have the right to give immoral commands to mages or Tranquil.”

“Immoral commands,” Anders sneered in contempt. “That’s your problem with it? Is that why you never went beyond looking at Surana, not because _she_ might have felt pressure, but because it would have made _you_ a bad boy?”

Petrice looked askance at the Knight-Captain, and van Reeves eyed him with interest, as if he might want to blackmail Cullen with the information that Anders had just related. Cullen, for his part, blushed deeply and tried to clean up. “That wasn’t what I meant!” he protested. “I just meant that we don’t have unlimited power, and giving immoral commands is an example of how we do not. The victim of a rape isn’t doing anything wrong! I didn’t mean that!”

“But do you think the true evil is that the purity of a Templar is compromised by this sin?” he pressed.

“No!” he exclaimed. “That’s secondary! It’s evil _because_ of what is done to the victim! I only meant... ugh. I agree with the Viscountess, that’s all. I did not know that Alrik and his comrades were doing this until after you discovered it. I would have punished them very harshly if I had.”

“I doubt as harshly as they deserved.”

“Anders,” Caitlyn said quietly, finding her voice at last. She gave him a hard look, wishing that he would let Cullen alone. As clumsily as the Knight-Captain was making his point, she did understand what he was trying to say. And he disagreed with Meredith and the foreign Seeker and Templar. She did not need Anders to antagonize him needlessly.

He looked for a second as if he wanted to continue the fight, but then it dawned on him why she was trying to settle him down. He nodded, relaxed in his seat, and deferred to her in his body language.

“We have a fundamental disagreement about this,” Caitlyn said to the guests. “I think that you are gravely wrong, and I am willing to speculate that Divine Justinia would be appalled to learn of your views on this. And since we are clearly not going to reach a productive consensus, I think it best that you both return to Orlais as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” Trentwatch finally said, his voice cold and contemptuous. “I think that would be best too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I depicted Cullen as soft on rape, I screwed up and I apologize to his fans. I was trying to balance his current belief that Templars have the inherent right to command mages with the horror and disgust he feels at Templars like Alrik... and Trentwatch… as well as the realization that their power can go too far, with horrible results. He’ll never be one of my _DA_ baes, but because of the very end of _DA2_ and _DA:I_ , I don’t have antipathy for him like I do for Sebastian.
> 
> Trentwatch is Knight-Vigilant by 9:41 prior to the Conclave, and we know this because he is contacted by Lord Seeker Lucius, who says that he’s glad Trentwatch survived the Conclave and urges him to go to Therinfal and covertly plot with the Red Templars. That can mean nothing good (and likewise the fact that he headed the Templars during the Mage-Templar War), so I’m taking some authorial liberties.
> 
> It is canon that Sebastian sanctions Ferelden for being friendly to mages. It's referenced in an Inquisition codex entry, implying that he placed the sanctions during the war for allowing the mages at Redcliffe (and _before_ the Venatori deal). Here he just does it earlier.


	16. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more to everyone who is reading this story!
> 
> Song is “Sound of Silence” by Simon & Garfunkel.

Caitlyn did not want the Orlesians to stay in Kirkwall any longer than necessary, and she and Anders agreed that they would not be welcome in the Keep. As it happened, they did not even have to refuse the hospitality. The Knight-Commander invited them to stay at the Templar quarters in the Gallows and see for themselves how the Circle was run, and they eagerly accepted.

Anders didn’t like it. “If the Circle appears decent now, it’s _because_ Alrik and his comrades are dead,” he said, “and because some policies have been changed—which Meredith fought!”

“Decent—or too free, in their opinion,” Caitlyn said sourly. “I agree, but what can I do other than banishing them from the city, which would probably spark the war I want to avoid? Meredith is in charge of the Gallows. She has the right to invite them. And if they think the Circle is just fine—not too free, but just fine, and therefore that your outrage was overblown—they will credit her with that, whatever I say to the contrary.”

“It’s pointless to try to change their minds,” he agreed, “but we can still put out the truth.”

“That’s exactly what I intend. They came here on their own, not because Justinia sent them. She wants to know who the rebels in the Chantry are. I think I might have found a couple of them for her.” She smiled darkly. “At the very least, I doubt she knows what Trentwatch believes about rape. Dismissing him because he disagrees with her about Circle reform is one thing; dismissing him because he thinks Templars have the right to commit rape is another thing entirely. If she wants a reason to sack him, she’s got one now.”

“They’re going to deny that they said it,” he warned, “and Meredith will probably lie for them if the alternative is to side with us.”

“I bet Cullen won’t.”

Anders scowled. “You have more faith in people than I do.”

“He stood up to the Knight-Vigilant. It’s worth trying. I’m going to write to Leliana—and perhaps to others. I do have Fereldan allies now.” She smiled grimly and considered further. “I decided to embargo Starkhaven and Tantervale goods from entering Kirkwall. I wonder, now, if I should blockade their ships from passing through the Waking Sea at all. That wasn’t something I proposed to the Fereldans... just that we could tax the ships that pass through... though, hmm, a blockade is generally considered an act of war. We’re a major trade hub in the Free Marches,” she decided. “The embargo itself should hurt. The path to Kirkwall is by far the closest to the Waking Sea for them, but they’ll have to send their caravans to a different city to enter the sea, or follow the Minanter all the way to the Amaranthine Ocean and then take a long, long trip the full length of the sea. That will hurt.”

“I don’t know much about trade policy,” Anders said, “but whatever you do to inflict hurt on Sebastian is something I support.” His tone and smile were fierce.

“I didn’t know much about it either, but Varric and Ser Marlein do, and I’ve had to learn a lot of things rather fast,” she said. She rose from her seat and pulled him up, which he let her do. “Come. I’ve had quite enough politics today. Mother and the others are taking care of Mal. Let’s have a family dinner, like old times!”

* * *

Caitlyn realized that her new position likely  _would_ cost her one relationship: a close one with her newfound cousin. Charade was not intimidated by Caitlyn, of which she was glad, but she did not look to become exceptionally close to her powerful head-of-state relative now. Charade had become close to Leandra, and Caitlyn gathered that the young woman was essentially in charge of the household now even though Leandra was still the one who handled society affairs. She was glad that her mother was still among family, but it seemed to her that the family was dividing into two distinct branches: Anders and the Hawkes, who lived in the Keep and were all mages—at least those in Kirkwall—and the Amells, who lived in their ancestral home and were not. Living with other Amells who were not mages was how Leandra had grown up, Caitlyn realized— _and she wanted to return to Kirkwall originally because she thought she would get to be “Lady Amell” in the Amell mansion among her family,_ she thought that evening as they finished their meal.  _It wasn’t nearly that easy... but I guess she’s finally got what she wanted, except that it doesn’t include her own children. Carver and I always thought she was too clingy, and I should be glad that she has finally moved past that and let us live adult lives... but it kind of hurts now, after all._

_And Carver has an entirely separate life from all of us in Ferelden,_ she thought.  _The Fereldan Wardens have expanded significantly since Anders’ time among them, and Carver must have a circle of friends all his own now, who don’t even know Anders. Apparently he and Merrill still have... something... but his life has diverged the most of anyone’s._ She gazed at Anders. When she had become Viscountess, he had written to Elissa Cousland to voluntarily forgo the Grey Warden stipend. Like King Alistair, he was no longer considered an active Warden, and for much the same reason, although he was not the ruler himself. It was unseemly for the Grey Wardens to appear to have a hold over a head of state or the spouse of one. Carver was now the active Warden of the family...  _but “resignation” from active duty doesn’t change what makes someone a Warden, and Elissa knows that we’re interested in a cure for infertility and will give it to us if her people discover one. Maker, I hope they do. Anders is such a loving father... he should get to raise one of his children from infancy... and Mal should have a sibling as I did. He’s too isolated from other children, and it’s because he is a mage. He’s already seven years old, so any future siblings couldn’t be playmates for him... but having a sibling at all matters. It mattered to me and I was five when Carver and Bethany were born. I didn’t play with them; when they were old enough to play, I considered myself too old and had already shown magic... but it mattered just for them to be there, for me not to be alone as a mage child._

Her eyes were starting to water, and a lump had formed in her throat that her dessert wine was not helping. In fact, that seemed to be amplifying her emotions. Dinner was at an end, so she rose from her chair and ushered her family into the private sitting room of the Keep.

* * *

“What is it like to live on a farm?” Mal asked suddenly when they were all in the sitting room.

Caitlyn glanced up in surprise. “A lot of hard work,” she told him. Chuckles escaped from Leandra and Anders. “You’re thinking about Ferelden again, aren’t you? Lothering?”

He nodded. “I remember it a little, but I don’t remember doing anything.”

“You were too small,” she said with a smile. “The rest of us... everyone who was able had to pitch in with the garden, milking the cow and gathering the hens’ eggs... and we had a _very_ little farm! Your uncle Carver hunted deer and pheasant in the woods.”

“I remember the woods.” He gazed thoughtfully at her. “You didn’t hunt? Or Aunt Bethany, or Grandma, or... my grandfather?”

She smiled gently. “Carver hunted with his bow. Your grandmother wasn’t taught how, and we mages didn’t know either. Using magic to hunt would have damaged the meat—and other people might have seen it.”

“They might indeed,” Anders added. “Your family saw my magic in the woods even in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“And I’m eternally grateful that we did,” she said, moving close to him on the sofa.

“I know about the snowstorm,” Mal said, his childlike voice impatient in a way that was still endearing to his family. “I’ve known about that for _years._ Did you love each other as soon as you met in it?”

“No,” Caitlyn said.

“Yes,” Anders with a smirk. She snapped a spark of lightning between her fingertips and zapped him with it. He laughed and pulled her hands down. “Oh, now. You saved my life. Of course I loved the person who did that!”

“Oh, that’s why? What if I had been a Templar?”

He gaped, making her burst into laughter at the expression of horror on his face. “Say it,” she demanded.

“You win,” he said, his voice small but his facial expression changing to a smile.

“Mother wins!” Mal repeated, enjoying his parents’ affectionate banter. He smiled for a moment, then gazed at Caitlyn. “So when _did_ you love him?”

“Soon enough,” she said. “And your father was teasing. He just means that he was very grateful to me for saving his life—and your grandfather was with us too. People don’t fall in love immediately. They have to get to know each other, but once we did, it happened really quickly....”

“And then _you_ happened,” Anders said, prompting Caitlyn to zap him again.

“Ugh,” Mal declared. “I know how babies are made and I don’t want to think about that. My own parents, ew.”

Charade rolled her eyes as the others laughed gently. “I’m with Mal on this one. Nobody wanted that picture.”

Leandra smiled indulgently at them. “We were all so happy then,” she said. “Our lives would have gone very differently if....” She sighed, not finishing the thought. She did not need to. “But I suppose we would not have met Charade.”

“You never know,” the young woman said. “I still would have gone looking for my father when my mother died. I _hope_ he would have written to you about me if you lived in Ferelden.”

“I certainly would have,” Gamlen said indignantly.

“And I suppose we’ve managed to find our places, and find a different kind of happiness, now,” Leandra continued. “I wish that you two—three—could have lived the quiet, peaceful life that you wanted instead of having to take on all of this responsibility... but....”

“We couldn’t have,” Caitlyn finished gently. “Not while the world is this way for mages. But we’re changing that now.” She managed a wry smile. “And if the world _had_ been different, Anders might never have come through Lothering.”

“That’s true,” Leandra said quietly as Anders wrapped his arm tightly around Caitlyn’s waist. “I wish so much that we hadn’t lost dear Malcolm and Bethany... but I suppose....”

“They didn’t have to die, certainly not Bethany. Father couldn’t have lived in Kirkwall, but we could have perhaps established a little farm outside the city. Anders wouldn’t have become a Warden, but maybe Carver wouldn’t have been so insistent on going in the Deep Roads if Bethany and Father had been here too and he wouldn’t have been the only one at home with you. Their losses were _not_ necessary for us to become what we are today,” she said fiercely. _Their lives meant more than a means to an end for us,_ she thought.

“That is true... but if the world had been different for mages, you and Anders never would have met. And since things do not change on their own—people have to initiate change—I am so proud that the two of you will do it.”

That night, after they had left and she and Anders had tucked Mal into bed, she reflected on the emotional evening.  _This is why I have done everything,_ she thought— _my family. The past... the present... and above all, the future of it. I promised to Mal in my heart years ago that he would not suffer what we did. The cause is “the rights of mages,” but it’s always been personal for me in addition, because of my family. Whenever the politics become unpleasant, I need to remember tonight and remember why I’m fighting._

* * *

It was fortunate that she had had that pleasant evening, because over the next several days, the politics did become very unpleasant. She duly wrote and sent her letter to Leliana explaining what Trentwatch and van Reeves had said at the conference, along with naming the other witnesses to their words. She then sent word to Ferelden about the matter. King Alistair reputedly did not care for the Templars due to being forced into training at the behest of a woman who believed that he was her husband’s bastard, and he was said to be an incorrigible gossip, but she doubted that Anora was the sort to engage in that. Her letter to the Fereldan Crown therefore purported to be a “warning” about the ugly views of the Knight-Vigilant and a recommendation to the King and Queen to check on the conditions of the Circle at Kinloch Hold. That should satisfy Anora... and meanwhile, if the word about Alistair was correct, he would do the dirty work of defaming Trentwatch in Ferelden.  _Not that it counts as defamation when the man openly spouts such loathsome views,_ she thought.

Meanwhile with the aid of Varric’s rumor mill, word quickly spread through Kirkwall after Trentwatch and van Reeves departed for Orlais. Unfortunately, there were two distinct reactions to it.

* * *

_“The Lord Consort was right!”_ declared a broadsheet circulated by a group calling itself Front for Resolution. Aveline had some harsh words about this when she found the first one.

“They _claim_ not to be affiliated with the ‘official’ Resolutionists,” she said to Caitlyn and Anders, “and assert that they are Kirkwall mage-rights backers, both mage and non-mage, who merely support your reign, but I’m not sure I believe that they have no communication with the official group.”

“Wait,” Anders said. “Who are the ‘official Resolutionists,’ then?”

“They’re a group of apostate mages who think that acts of violence are the only way to force change,” she said. “They are currently based mainly in Tantervale, though I’m told they spread to Starkhaven a few years ago after the Circle there burned.”

Anders burst into a smirk that actually disturbed Caitlyn to see. “We should have agents in that area to give them some of what they are doing to us!”

“You don’t want to support those people,” Aveline said harshly. She did not like that grin either. “At least, if you have any intention of keeping on the Divine’s good side. They target priests and devout civilians in Tantervale.”

Anders looked dashed. “Well,” he said, “all right—but what about the ones who made that broadsheet? Why do you think they’re  _not_ independent?”

“Because they use the same word in their name, of course. Why would they do that unless they are affiliated, however loosely? My guess is that they aren’t committing violence here because they don’t believe they ‘need’ to with a mage-friendly Grand Cleric and a mage Viscountess, and they use a slightly different name because the Resolutionists proper are associated with violence. I guarantee you they’d be doing it otherwise.”

“If they aren’t committing violence, they have a right to be here,” Caitlyn interjected. “Do you know who is the leader of this group? We should discreetly talk with this person and urge him... or her... to change the name to something else and cut ties with the ones in the north.”

Aveline pursed her lips. “You and your soft spot for vigilantes who are on your side,” she groused. “If it’s not the priest’s First Watchmen martyrs against the Qunari, it’s this.”

“I _was_ a vigilante once.”

Aveline managed a smile, but it was somewhat forced. “I don’t know who is in charge—which tells me it’s likely an apostate who escaped from a Circle and wants to stay anonymous as a result. I’ll see if I can find anything more.”

* * *

The second kind of reaction to the word about Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch was the one that Caitlyn and Anders had predicted. As soon as Varric’s rumor-mongering spread the news that Meredith Stannard had witnessed these awful statements, the Knight-Commander denied publicly that Trentwatch had said them at all—and the very afternoon that she declared this on the Gallows steps, her eyes bloodshot again, her agents and toadies were in the streets, gleefully repeating her lie and slandering Caitlyn, Anders, and Petrice.

“A lying false priest and an apostate who defies the Chant of Light every hour she occupies the Keep,” Ser Mettin jeered to a crowd in Lowtown. “Tevinter has priests who serve mage rulers and blaspheme the words of Andraste, but this evil has taken hold again in Kirkwall too, centuries after we threw off the magisters! A magister-like family and a heretic in Chantry robes are here again! This is what happens when we forget the true doctrine!”

The gathered crowd jeered in derision at these words. On the fringes of this group, a petite, dark-haired elf ducked away and hurried to Hightown, to the Tethras mansion, to tell her best friend what she had just heard.

“That’s exactly what he said?” Caitlyn said in furious disbelief when Varric and Merrill had been admitted to the Keep and told her what had happened.

“I might have forgotten a word or two,” Merrill said nervously, “but I’m not making anything up, I swear. It was shocking enough!”

“That’s blatant sedition against me and the Grand Cleric,” Caitlyn said, her jaw clenched in anger. “He is inciting insurrection and Meredith is encouraging her little pets to do this, while keeping her own hands clean!”

“Relatively clean,” Anders said, glowering. “She still lied. Her little cult will believe anything her agents say and disbelieve anything her enemies say. People who didn’t have a strong opinion already are going to shrug and say that they don’t know whom to believe. Who can prove that she’s lying now?”

“Cullen Rutherford, if he has the courage.”

Anders suppressed his bitter laugh, because he did not want to scoff in her face when he was angry at other people, and turned aside miserably.  _What kind of world is it where certain people can lie without consequence because they have power?_ he thought.  _Caitlyn, bless her, wants so badly to win this fight by politics because she is tired of bloodshed. I hope she’s right._

* * *

Caitlyn summoned Thrask and Keran, the two Templars whom she trusted most now, to the outer Keep and informed them that Meredith was lying about what the Knight-Vigilant had said and that the Knight-Captain knew it.

“The Knight-Captain!” Keran said nervously, grasping immediately what she wanted. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I don’t want to get on his bad side again! He only recently decided I was all right.”

Thrask sighed. “I am not surprised that Meredith lied. She... I don’t know how to say this, and this must be in confidence... with all due respect. I don’t mean to make demands of Your Grace.”

“I understand your position,” Caitlyn said. “I can’t promise you that I won’t tell my husband, but it will go no further, and I will make sure he knows too.”

“Of course,” Thrask said at once. “I didn’t mean... of course you will tell him. Well.” He lowered his voice and looked around quickly and furtively. “Something isn’t right with her. She’s... off.”

Caitlyn considered that. “To my eyes, she has always been a zealot who did things that were ‘off.’ What’s worse about her lately?”

“You would have to be in her company frequently to see the difference. She has grown terribly paranoid, Your Grace, and not just about the mages. She doesn’t seem to trust most of the Templars either. Since your lord husband put Alrik to death, she has hardly been seen conferring with any Templar other than Mettin and his friends and protégés. She’s even shut out Cullen. I overheard him complaining in his office to Ser Agatha that he feels that his title is hollow, he has so little responsibility. Mettin is effectively the Knight-Captain now.”

“Do you think it could be lyrium sickness?” Caitlyn asked baldly.

“I’ve wondered, but I’ve seen Templars in that before, and this is worse. And _different._ It is hard to explain.”

 _Then she’s likely just set off by losing so much power—to a mage, at that_ , Caitlyn thought. “Well... take care of yourselves and the other good Templars,” she urged them, “and try to make Cullen understand what he has to do.”

After that, she went to the Chantry for an audience. Petrice grew increasingly indignant as Caitlyn told her what she had heard from Merrill and Varric.

“That’s it,” the priest seethed. “I do not have to tolerate this disrespect. Meredith could put a stop to this if she wanted, but if she will not, I shall.” Without another word to Caitlyn, she summoned an initiate to go to the Gallows and bring Meredith before them.

Caitlyn was quite sure that she knew what Petrice was going to do, and had not thought that this was a good idea at all—but she had no authority whatever to stop it. When the Knight-Commander stormed into the Chantry, furious and sneering, she mustered her own resolve and clutched her staff defiantly, knowing that it would further irritate the Templar.

“What do you want?” Meredith barked.

“That lunatic Mettin is standing on the streets of Lowtown calling me a ‘lying false priest’ and comparing me to the male heretics of the Imperium—and speaking treason against Her Grace the Viscountess, too. And there is not a shred of doubt in my mind that you know what he is doing. I am giving you one last chance to strip him of his title before I do it myself.”

Meredith’s eyes popped in outrage. “You dare accuse me again?”

Petrice sneered at her, her mouth in an asymmetrical, dark smile. “Why should I trust your intentions toward me? You lied before all Kirkwall and the Maker about the Knight-Vigilant’s words.”

“As if you and that mage”—she sneered disrespectfully at Caitlyn—“haven’t lied your way to power! You are a pair of hypocrites, and if Ser Mettin has said _that_ to the people of Kirkwall, it’s the justice of the Maker for the mob incitement that you two engaged in to rise!”

“What have we lied about?” Caitlyn said, her words ice.

Meredith laughed nastily. “To begin with, you lied to this city for four years about being an apostate! And I still believe you lied, both of you, that you didn’t want the Qunari to rise up.”

“You’re wrong—but this is beside the point. Mettin is inciting unrest with his words. That is why the Grand Cleric had you summoned here.”

“Inciting unrest!” Meredith scoffed. “Another thing the two of you did constantly. You don’t like it when it’s done against you, do you? If that _is_ what he is doing.”

“Do you have anything to say other than calling us hypocrites?” Caitlyn snarled. “Her Grace never spoke of Elthina or you—or Dumar—except to criticize them and you about the response to the Qunari presence. She did not accuse Elthina of anything else until it was proven that she was guilty! She was criticizing the actions of Kirkwall’s leaders, not slandering them by comparing them to magisters and Imperial Chantry priests, accusing them of blasphemy and heresy, or declaring that they were unlawfully holding their posts! But even if we _were_ hypocrites, it does not make Mettin’s conduct acceptable.”

Meredith’s gaze narrowed, and her voice became low and menacing. “If you dare strip Mettin of his knighthood, I will take it to Trentwatch. And you know whose side he is on. Do you think that the Divine will overrule him for one little Templar in Kirkwall?”

“Do _you_ think the Knight-Vigilant will bother with one little Templar in Kirkwall?” Petrice retorted. “He is about to find himself in a great deal of trouble, I think! You may be able to fool part of Kirkwall, but the truth will out.” She glared into the Knight-Commander’s eyes. “Whether you like it or not, your co-conspirator Elthina is not the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall anymore. I am, and she is nothing but a fugitive! Mettin will be a civilian within the hour, Knight-Commander. The Viscountess and I have had enough.”

Meredith’s nostrils flared angrily. Without another word, she stormed off.

* * *

“It won’t stop him,” Anders said at once when Caitlyn returned to the Keep and told him what had happened. “He will probably be even worse as a civilian. Having his title stripped certainly made Varnell even more of a zealot. Doesn’t she remember that? And he’s still working for her, isn’t he?”

“I haven’t spoken with him in a while, but so far as I know, he is still her personal bodyguard, even though he isn’t a Templar. I know, Anders. I know this won’t stop Mettin. That’s why I wished, in a way, that she hadn’t done it. But, on the other hand, it _is_ a show of strength. There is something to be said for that.”

Anders turned aside, his brow furrowed deeply. He remained silent and turned aside until she touched his sleeve in concern. “Love? What’s wrong?”

He faced her again, his face deeply unhappy, and took a deep breath. “There is something that  _would_ stop him for good,” he said gingerly.

Caitlyn blanched at what he was implying. “We can’t do that!” she burst out. “Maybe a year ago... and I wish we had,” she said in a whisper. “But not now. We have to be better... we have to do this right... we have to  _respect_ the power that we’ve been entrusted, not abuse it... and besides, tensions are so high, sides are so clearly drawn, that it would be obvious who was responsible if we did that. It would be obvious as far away as Starkhaven... Denerim... and Val Royeaux.”

“I know,” he croaked. He looked so miserable that she reached across the sofa and took him into her arms, cradling his head against her chest. “You’re right. Maker. I thought that having this kind of power would make it easier to get things done... better for the cause... better for our family. But it imposes restrictions on us too.”

“It’s... different,” she finally said, stroking his hair and trying to comfort herself along with him. “We do have more power overall, but some avenues are closed to us now. At least... they’re closed if we don’t want to spark war.”

* * *

Mettin’s dismissal from the Templar Order did not settle Kirkwall down. As Caitlyn and Anders had anticipated, the man continued to stand on street corners in Lowtown spouting his bile to any who would listen. The only thing that Petrice’s order had accomplished, it appeared, was to sever the clear link between him and Meredith Stannard. He could now say, as could Meredith, that he was acting without her approval or knowledge, and they would have plausible deniability. In that sense, it was actually counterproductive. Petrice had had her moment of “power,” and with it, she had ceded the ability to do anything to Mettin unless she wanted to arrest him for heresy—which would be difficult, given that he was not actually speaking against the Chant of Light, just the current Grand Cleric.

The city fell into an uneasy truce for the next several days. Caitlyn knew that if any real action occurred, it would be after her letters to Leliana had arrived in Orlais, and that would take a while. In the meantime, Caitlyn decided to deal with another simmering problem before it exploded in her face: the dragon at the mine. To that end, she summoned the foreman to the Keep at night, after work hours, to hear his story. The other owner, Hubert, was also there, as was Varric—because she had something to ask of him if the story seemed believable to her.

“Three of them have seen the beast itself,” the man said, “always in flight, circling around before heading off. But it keeps coming back. And they all swear they’ve seen its shadow pass over them or heard its roars.”

Caitlyn believed him. The workers had always been telling the truth when they talked about monsters in the area. She did wonder if the dragon was truly a High Dragon, the biggest variant known to modern Thedas but also very rare, or if it was just a large mature dragon, but this distinction hardly mattered. It was dangerous, and if it decided to create a nest in the mine, everyone there would be slaughtered.

She turned to Varric. “If we can just discourage the dragon from nesting, we could avoid a protracted, ugly battle with it in which some of the fighters would probably die if it really is a High Dragon. Is that possible? Do you know, have the dwarves invented anything to drive them away? I know that the dwarves of Orzammar live underground, but dragons may settle in caves....”

“Those stodgy twits don’t have anything, but we surface dwarves are working on something,” he said proudly. “Seems that dragons are making a reappearance—fitting, given the name of the Age, but after the Nevarrans hunted them almost to extinction, they’re coming back, and so my people are, naturally, seeing a new market open up.” He grinned.

Hubert scowled. “And that is exactly why I don’t want to do this! Everyone knows how the dwarves take advantage of humans, thinking us stupid and foolish. And if we believe this man’s story, repeated to him by ignorant laborers, we’ll deserve it!”

“Excuse me?” the foreman sputtered.

Caitlyn was glowering in anger.  _“You_ certainly deserve to be called foolish,” she snapped. “You owe Varric and your man an apology. But I am sure you won’t offer it.”

“I’m not paying for dwarven contraptions to chase a phantom,” Hubert insisted. “I cannot believe you just took his word without question. Do you do that with everyone you see as Viscountess?”

She snapped. “Leave,” she ordered. “If you don’t want to pay for it, then you won’t have to. I will pay for it—but I warn you, if there  _is_ a dragon, you just made a big mistake to speak that way to me.”

Hubert rose from his seat in high dudgeon, leaving the outer Keep without a second look.

Caitlyn breathed in and out. “I meant it,” she said. “He is negligent, and unlike the previous ruler, I try to look out for  _all_ the people of Kirkwall. There will be consequences.” She turned to Varric. “Tell me more about this device.”

“It’s a special ballista that can pierce dragon hide. They call it the ‘deepstalker,’” he said with a somewhat derisive chuckle, “which as you know, having walked in the Deep Roads, is ridiculous. Those pests couldn’t harm a dragon... but the other name they considered was ‘scorpion,’ which makes even less sense. If you don’t want to kill the dragon, I’ve heard that the thing to do is to apply frost magic to the bolts and aim them at the wing joints. That’ll cripple it and make it want to avoid the place where it got this debilitating injury.”

“It can be killed if that’s the only way,” she said, “but otherwise, yes, I’d like to discourage it. A High Dragon is a magnificent, rare creature.” _And perhaps I feel a little sympathy for a creature of magic and fire that wants to secure a good home for its young! I have killed dragons before, but they attacked first. This one has not._ “It can nest where it pleases so long as that’s far away from people!”

* * *

At last, Caitlyn had the visitor from Orlais that she was hoping to see. Leliana made her appearance in the Keep, bearing a sheaf of documents, her identity well-concealed by her spy cloak. Caitlyn brought Anders to the parlor where they would talk.

“I am glad that you did,” the Left Hand of the Divine said, her gaze cast down and to the side as he appeared before them. “What I have to say is best said personally, and it would be inappropriate of me to ask a wife to relay... certain things... to her husband.”

“What do you mean?” Caitlyn asked as they took their seats, genuinely curious—but somewhat uneasy too. This sounded ominous.

Leliana gazed ahead, not looking at either of them, seemingly praying with eyes open for the Maker and Prophet in which she so fervently believed to help her find the right words. “I have many things to tell you,” she finally said, “and it is best to start at the top. I know that the Empress rejected your ambassador.”

“It was a disappointment, but I suppose I see her reasoning. We are doing some very controversial things here in Kirkwall, and from Celene’s perspective, it would be a huge risk without much advantage to Orlais.”

Leliana nodded. “That was Her Majesty’s reasoning. If I may... and this must be a secret... she is not against mages, or even apostates. She has expressed an interest in meeting the Chasind mage who served with us in the Blight, and her family, the Valmont family, have long had an interest in magic and the occult. But there is a distinction between having an exotic Court Mage, having a little family secret, and openly forming an alliance with... well... the most controversial head of state in southern Thedas, to be honest.” She gazed at Caitlyn with an amused smile on her face.

Caitlyn was perversely proud of this designation, despite the context. As she stole a glance at Anders, she realized that it pleased him too.

“The Divine is attempting to prevent war and schism,” Leliana continued. “It is becoming more difficult, of course... if the would-be schismatics cannot take her life and she cannot root them out, then they _will_ declare a schism, and she will have no choice but to call an Exalted March. She does not want it to reach that state.”

“Nor do I,” Caitlyn said quietly.

“And this next is why I am glad that you are here personally, Lord Anders,” she said. He looked up, startled; even now, the title was unfamiliar to his ears. She continued, her voice harder now. “When the stories reached Val Royeaux, I did not believe that you had actually executed Templars without cause—and sure enough, the Viscountess wrote to me to explain what had happened in that event and following it. Most Holy agrees that they disgraced the Order and that it was right for them to face justice.”

_Face justice indeed,_ Caitlyn thought wryly.  _If only you knew how literally true that is. Or do you? Has Elissa Cousland told you? Surely she wouldn’t; she respects people’s privacy, and it is arguably a Grey Warden secret._

“Nonetheless, the way that you handled it made it harder, politically, for the Divine to back Kirkwall. Using magic in a court of law to silence them... and then in an execution, because their crimes were against mages, or to make a public display of the fact that you could? In Kirkwall of all places, a city founded by a slave lord of the old magisters?”

Anders grew visibly defensive, as he still did when anyone other than Caitlyn chastised him for the ugly business, but he did not argue with her.

“He understands the consequences,” Caitlyn finally said, “and agrees that it... was not his best moment. That Templar, Alrik, had hurt someone he cared about with the Rite of Tranquility, and he had to give that poor man a merciful death. We all have certain situations, certain people, that... set us off.”

Leliana sighed but managed a weak smile. “It is true, but we all have to be careful of what we do if we are to prevent war from breaking out,” she said. “One wrong move could ignite it. I am trying to ferret out moles and spies in the Chantry who I think are corresponding with the defrocked fugitive, Elthina, without Divine sanction. I am almost certain that the Knight-Vigilant is one of these rebels, especially after your letter detailing the vile things he said.”

“Then—” Anders began to say heatedly.

Leliana gave them both that knowing smile again. “Wait for it, my lord. I am almost certain that he is a rebel... but I am still unsure about the Seeker hierarchy. Lady Seeker Nicoline declares that she sent Lambert van Reeves with Trentwatch to confirm that he was unfit to serve anymore, and van Reeves—who, with the Knight-Vigilant, is back in Orlais, of course—agrees with her.”

“At the conference, it looked mightily to me as if they were together in whatever scheming was afoot,” Caitlyn said. “The Seeker was less vocal than Trentwatch, but when he did speak, he backed him up.” She paused, finding her words. “If they were, then van Reeves and perhaps the Lady Seeker as well have decided to throw Trentwatch under the proverbial carriage because he behaved too stupidly for them to defend to the Divine.”

Leliana sighed again. “That is a possibility. Unfortunately, although I strongly suspect that Trentwatch is part of the covert rebellion, even that appalling conference does not  _prove_ it, and it certainly does not clarify anything about the Seekers’ possible part in it. However... that conference does give Justinia a pretext to dismiss Trentwatch.”

For the first time since Leliana had entered the Keep, Anders looked hopeful.

“The Knight-Commander of Kirkwall has publicly denied that Trentwatch made those comments,” Caitlyn said. “Anders and I, and the Grand Cleric, will all confirm that he did... but if Lady Nicoline’s hand-picked Seeker denies it too....”

“He has denied that Trentwatch made the specific comments about rape, but... he does now say that Trentwatch disgraced himself. They are blaming it on advanced lyrium addiction,” Leliana said bitterly. “That is what the Lady Seeker claims she sent van Reeves to ascertain, whether he had that condition.”

“That’s absolute nonsense,” declared Anders. “I wouldn’t trust _her_ either!”

“There was someone else at the conference,” Caitlyn said, “as I mentioned in my letter: Knight-Captain Cullen. Have you met him?”

“Briefly, during the Blight, when he was but a Templar at Kinloch Hold. Or... I should say... I _encountered_ him. He was being tormented by a demon at the time.”

Outrage flooded Anders’ face, chasing away the look of hope. “Was he? The hypocrite. He condemned a young Templar recruit for unwanted, unwilling contact with a demon....”

“Condemned?”

“Verbally,” Caitlyn clarified. “The young man is fine and completed his training. He’s actually one of two Templars in this city that I trust pretty much unconditionally.” She gave Anders a mildly reproachful look. “And Cullen did speak against Trentwatch, the leader of his order. You should talk to him. I hear that he’s not feeling too charitably toward Meredith lately, either.”

Leliana made a mental note of this. “I shall do that. Justinia needs all the people of honor and good intention to know that they can turn to her. We are all on the same side in this; please remember that.” She gave Anders a pointed look. “You hate the Rite of Tranquility, of course, both of you. This is a secret that can go no farther, but you should know that Justinia is interested in hidden, highly secret research that could find a way to reverse Tranquility.”

Anders sat up, startled and very pleased—though Caitlyn saw that the joy on his face was mixed with a pang of deep regret. _Karl,_ she thought. _If this research really does find that solution... he didn’t have to die. Oh, Anders. I’m sorry. But... you acted on what you knew at the time._

“In the meantime... you two must be on your guard. You know this already, I am sure, but never allow yourselves or those you love to be alone with Meredith or her known comrades. And do you have a taster for your food, or some potion that can detect poison?”

“We have significant skill in herbalism between ourselves,” she said, “especially Anders.”

“That is good,” she said.

“Will Justinia get rid of Trentwatch?” Anders finally burst out, unable to keep the question in any longer.

“She definitely wants to, and if Cullen will confirm that he said the vile things, then she will do so. Of course... we have not yet discovered which of the Knights-Divine are rebels, so his replacement may be just as bad.”

“Well, we know _he_ is bad,” Anders said roughly.

“That is true.” She gazed ahead for another moment as if in prayer, then turned to face them again. “There is one last thing before I must take my leave and meet with Cullen. Regardless of whether he finds his courage and Justinia can take action, she has decided on a course that she hopes will cool tensions in Kirkwall to some degree, and she has authorized me to tell you—and the Grand Cleric, when I meet her—in advance of the Knight-Commander, who will learn of it when she passes the official edict.”

Caitlyn and Anders suppressed smirks at that.

“There _is_ an organized, if secret, rebellion, but the laity and low-ranking Templars across Thedas who hear news out of Kirkwall do not know of that. The rebels may use their anger, but what the people sympathetic to tradition think is that there is a pattern of actions in Kirkwall that seem to favor—in their view—undermining the Circles in favor of empowering two mages, the two of you, who either always have lived outside of one or who escaped and were granted amnesty. Her Perfection believes that part of the unease among that sector of the people is due to this, this... shunting aside of the traditional role of the Circles, in their eyes.”

Anders was growing discontented again, and Caitlyn was not overly happy either, but she was trying to hear Leliana’s words as objectively as she could.

“Justinia’s order will be that, unless and until she declares otherwise, any further changes in policy for the Circle, Templars, or apostate population of Kirkwall—progressive or reactionary—will require a majority vote of a group consisting of the Grand Cleric, Knight-Commander, Viscountess, and First Enchanter, or some other representative of the Circle. A majority meaning three of the four votes.”

“Oh,” Caitlyn said, smiling, “that is good, actually! I expect we’ll get three on just about everything we want to do... and then, to those who think that way, it can’t just be this ‘radical apostate couple’ and the rabble-rousing priest who gave me my freedom. The staid, traditional Circle mages approve too.”

Leliana smiled coyly. “That is the idea.”

* * *

Cullen did not want to come to the Keep, but he was willing to meet with Leliana in the Chantry. Caitlyn went there as well, leaving Anders at the Keep to watch Mal and supervise the healing clinic. He disliked the Chantry due to the dark memories of Karl’s death, and she saw no reason to pressure him to go. Cullen wanted to talk to Leliana alone, apparently not wanting to be under the watchful eyes of the secular and clerical leaders of the city. _Anders would have disapproved of letting him talk to her alone, where he could say anything,_ she thought, _but he obviously doesn’t like Cullen anyway. I’m not worried. Leliana knows what happened, and if this is what it takes for him to speak, so be it._

She did not particularly want to socialize with Petrice right now, so instead she walked through the building, gazing in interest at the artifacts and art. Her attention was briefly captivated by the library, which she entered with the eager consent of the sister who was the curator. She immersed herself in a book by Brother Genitivi, an eminent scholar, about the lore of the Magisters Sidereal and their disastrous spell to enter the Golden City. _Anders and I have probably slain two of them,_ she thought, turning the pages in interest. _As self-aggrandizing as that sounds, I suspect it’s true. But who can say how much of the rest of the story is true?_ She thought back to the notes left by ancient Wardens in the old fortress where Corypheus had slumbered. _In a way... I suppose I understand their urge to try to keep him alive and learn from him._

Her gaze passed over a passage in the book, and her eyes widened. _Some have the theory that they did their spell not in Minrathous, but on the Sundermount, a known weak point in the Veil following the ancient battle that supposedly occurred between elves and Tevinters. Maker’s flaming breath! That would explain why Kirkwall has so many apostates who turn to demons...._

“Your Grace?” the curator said shyly. “Your guest is finished, I think.”

Caitlyn would have liked to continue reading, but there would be other times. She closed and shelved the book and returned to the hall, where Leliana and Cullen were shaking hands. The Knight-Captain looked as if a weight had been lifted from him.

“Thank you so much for your courage and help,” Leliana said in her soft voice. “Maker watch over you. We will meet again, I am sure.”

* * *

In the coming days, after Leliana left Kirkwall, Divine Justinia made several proclamations that were quickly carried across the Waking Sea. The order for Kirkwall’s mage and Templar policies found its way to the city first, and Caitlyn had to pretend that she had not known of it in advance.

Loath as she was to do so, Meredith was obliged to go to the Chantry with First Enchanter Orsino to meet with her and Petrice about the new order. The older, handsome elf mage appeared surprised to be present for this, and Caitlyn found herself unable to read him. That was disconcerting. She knew that her perceptions of people were not always accurate, especially when she was in the throes of anger or desperate hope, but she thought that she was pretty skilled at this overall, and to be utterly unable to read someone was like being struck with the Holy Smite. Orsino did not even want to make eye contact with her.

_Is he intimidated?_ she wondered.  _He might be one of those who think they are not to raise their gaze to the face of their leader. He is an elf, and many city elves are unfortunately cowed by all humans, but he is the First Enchanter—the head of Kirkwall’s Circle mages, nominally. Why doesn’t he want to look at me? Meredith certainly isn’t afraid to...._

She wished that Anders were here, so that she could later ask him what he thought of the elf mage, but she had to project strength as herself without leaning too much on her partner in public, or else people would cease to respect her—and loss of her supporters’ respect was one thing she could not afford.

Finally, after the four of them had read over the Divine’s edict for Kirkwall, Caitlyn decided that she had to adjourn the uncomfortable, awkward meeting. “I hope that we can all discuss future changes to Kirkwall policies regarding mages and Templars in a productive way,” she said, her tone sounding flat and listless even to her own ears, “and that the knowledge and unique perspective each of us provides will prove a benefit. Divine Justinia has given us her official approval to make our own policies, provided that they adhere to the Chant of Light, and for the sake of peace in the city, it’s important that the people see cooperation among us in that task.”

The words felt like pablum to her. Petrice stifled a roll of her eyes; she knew that it was fancy nonsense too. Meredith barely hid her own smirk. As they all rose from their seats to depart, Caitlyn stole another glance at Orsino. This time she caught his eye—but only for a moment. His gaze darted away at once, that strange, unreadable look on his face again.  _What is that?_ she thought.  _Is he... ashamed of something? Surely he hasn’t been shamed into thinking that he has no right to be here. The Divine specifically wanted him here to speak for the Circle mages. To my knowledge, he has always stood up for the mages under his supervision before, at least as far as he was able. What’s wrong? What has Meredith said to him?_

* * *

She meant to ask Anders if he knew any more about the First Enchanter, but he was so angry about something when she returned to the Keep that the question fled her mind.

“What happened?” she said dourly at the look on his face.

He inclined his head to glower at the official document on the nearest table, its seal—the sunburst of the Chantry—popped. She walked over and picked it up to read. As she read, her green eyes widened and the same anger that he felt overtook her. She tossed the note on the table in frustration.

“This,” he seethed, “is why I don’t trust them. Any of them. Even the ones who mean well are afraid of making a bold and necessary stand!”

She scowled at the discarded document, which announced the sudden vacancy of the Knight-Vigilant position, following the discovery of “illness” in former Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch that necessitated his removal to the Templar Hospice in Val Royeaux.

“He should have been stripped of his knighthood and disgraced before all of Thedas, not allowed to slink off and pretend that the lyrium made him say it!”

“I agree,” Caitlyn said, glowering in anger at the tabletop. “He’s not being held accountable. People like him are what _allowed_ Alrik and his ‘friends’ to think that they could do as they pleased.”

“They are,” Anders said. “And if he _is_ part of a rebellion, what’s to stop him from continuing to carry it on from a sick room? Surely that so-called Divine didn’t _believe_ the lie that the Seekers told about lyrium sickness!”

“I can’t imagine that she would have,” Caitlyn said. A new surge of anger filled her. “It must have been this urge to avoid conflict. And—fine. She’s not filling the post. She will lead the Templars herself, she says, until she finds a ‘suitable candidate.’ She wanted to get that result without triggering the revolt at last, so she pretended to act on the Seekers’ words, whom she must privately suspect too. I _understand_ what her reasoning must have been.” She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but it was hard. “But she still should have dismissed him for what he said! What in the Void was the point of getting the truth from Cullen if she wasn’t going to announce to Thedas in the first place that the Knight-Vigilant excused rape? It was hard enough to get _him_ to show courage; what message does he receive if the Divine won’t do it?”

“Morally cowardly compromises satisfy no one,” Anders said darkly. “I’m not against compromise in principle—for the right reasons. This is not that.” He clenched his fists, from which little lightning bolts arced. “There is no justice in this. He should have been exposed for what he is.”

“The King and Queen of Ferelden know about it,” she said. “I’ve heard that Alistair is a hopeless gossip, and I asked Anora to check on the conditions at Kinloch Hold. You told me that Elissa Cousland is sheltering a lot of mages in the Wardens now, too. The truth may still be told in Ferelden... and here.”

“The ‘apostate Viscountess’ and the ‘barbarian dog lords,’” Anders said bitterly, his words filled with bleak cynicism. “Who else will believe it now? The official word is that he was ill from lyrium overuse and had to retire to the hospice.” He sank onto the nearest divan, clutching his head. “I want mages to be treated fairly and I want evil people to be held accountable. Is that so much to ask?”

She sat down next to him and leaned against him as he pressed against her in turn, each of them drawing comfort from the other. “You’re right, but there’s little we can do about it now except tell the truth,” she said. “Even if this is the official word, he  _did_ say those things and we can continue to say that. Lyrium sickness does not cause anyone to believe rape is not rape in some cases, and we can point that out. And he  _is_ removed from his position. There is that. He cannot overturn any more of Petrice’s orders and strengthen Meredith.”

“For whatever that’s worth,” Anders muttered. He gazed unhappily at her. “Caitlyn... I don’t know how to say this... I know that you want to believe in her because of Leliana, and because you want this issue to be resolved peacefully... and I dearly hope you’re right. I do think she means well, but it’s not enough to mean well. I’m afraid... I’m starting to see the same tendency for inaction and timidity in Justinia that we saw in Dumar, and we know how that ended.”

She closed her eyes, not even wanting to think about the implication.

“It could be worse,” he said. “At least Meredith and Elthina aren’t feeding her false information about the mages of Kirkwall. Other people are telling her the truth rather than a distorted lie. If _they_ were the only people talking to her about Kirkwall, she would probably think we were overrun with demons and needed an Exalted March,” he said cynically, “but instead, she does know that _Meredith_ is the problem—her and people like her near Justinia herself. But what is she _doing_ with this information? She removed the Knight-Vigilant without explaining the truth of why she did so, and in the process, she may have empowered Seekers who are even worse—just sneakier and more subtle.”

Caitlyn hugged him. “It could be worse,” she agreed, “but I would give her more credit for knowing that the Lady Seeker and Ser Lambert cannot be trusted, since they spread this lyrium idea to try to clean up a mess that Trentwatch made. I  _very_ much doubt that Justinia trusts them now. Leliana says that Justinia knows how to play the Game, and she does herself too.”

“But what good does her distrust do if she won’t act on it in ways that matter? She should have shamed him. If she wants change, she has to have the courage to bring it about. She should act first to remove those she _knows_ are harmful rather than waiting to see whom she can trust and keeping people she _doesn’t_ trust in power because of ‘the Game.’ If it results in a replacement who has to go too, so be it,” Anders said in hard tones. “They should all be purged.” A single bluish crackle of light darted up his neck before fading, and in that moment, his voice was slightly deeper, slightly more like Justice.

Caitlyn did not know what to say. Her head told her that Justinia, an Orlesian intriguer, knew what she was doing and had a plan—a plan that would eventually root out the rebels and purge the Chantry peacefully, enabling her to enact the reforms and grant mages the freedom that she said she wanted to give. But her heart whispered that he could be right.

“If it comes to that, then she will see it at last,” she finally said. “She’s not stupid. Cautious, but not stupid. That’s the difference between her and Dumar. I’m not happy with her either, Anders. I don’t mean to make excuses for her. But I cannot give in to hopelessness, and neither should you. We have to try to make this work.”

He squeezed her, suppressing a tremble. “I just hope that when she does see it, it isn’t too late for... mages here.”

_That wasn’t what you were going to say,_ she realized. The portrait of Viscount Threnhold, deposed by Meredith and her Templars and slain by one of them at last, filled her mind again, and she tried not to shudder in Anders’ embrace. “We have power,” she said, trying to convince herself. “We’re not helpless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The seven magisters did their spell on the Sundermount” is probably not original to me, but it’s a pet theory of mine (along with “the Taint is the magic of immortality, corrupted,” since the Tainted magisters sure seem able to live forever)—and hopefully _DA4_ gives us an answer.
> 
> I know Anders’ comments verge on breaking the fourth wall, given that in _DA2_ Elthina and Meredith _did_ distort their accounts to her so badly that she briefly considered an Exalted March, until Leliana got the facts, but he is the one who would be more likely to express frustration with her caution as an institutionalist and a traditional (in terms of her approach to politics, not her reform views) Game-player. Caitlyn can be provoked to turn aggressive, of course, but she’s sick of blood and has conflicts about using autocratic power (since she does get quite a thrill from doing it and knows it) and therefore really _wants_ things to work so that she doesn’t have to do either. It gets to the heart of the theme of this story.


	17. Slaughter in the Name of Andraste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspiration is adapted slightly from “Poor Man’s Crusade” by Demons and Wizards.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading!

Caitlyn gazed across the rectangular table from the head seat. After the news of the Knight-Vigilant’s dismissal to the Templar Hospice, plus another piece of news from abroad the next day, she had decided that another meeting was necessary.

“Is it absolutely confirmed that Hercinia has allied with Starkhaven and Tantervale?” Mistress Selby said, discomfited. “I know that they did not send a letter of congratulations to Your Grace....”

“Varric has told me that the word from the Merchant’s Guild is that Starkhaven ships—which can be safely inferred to include Tantervale ships that restock in Starkhaven—are getting preferential treatment in Hercinia and taxes waived on goods they buy to resupply. Given the embargo I put on all trade from them—which this alleviates—and the lack of a letter from Hercinia... yes, I think they are allied. Economically, at least.”

Several groans filled the room at this. “Any chance of getting an alliance with a city along the Minanter?” Selby asked. “Or... perhaps talk with the Fereldan nobles who rule Highever about a blockade of the Waking Sea for Starkhaven and Tantervale ships.”

“A blockade is an act of war,” Caitlyn said firmly. “As for other alliances... yes, it’s possible. Wycome in particular is a very ‘free’ Free Marcher city, so their lord might be sympathetic to us. At this point, I don’t see that it would be of much use if the goal is only to hurt Starkhaven and Tantervale trade. They know they will get excellent prices and, most likely, protection, if they go to Hercinia, so they’ll be supplied to make it there. They wouldn’t have to stop in Wycome at all... or Bastion. Militarily, it’s a great idea to ally with a city at the mouth of the river—but that’s just it; I think it would only be useful for wartime. And we’d have to defend them if it came to that, because Starkhaven would try to take Wycome to get river passage back.”

The woman scowled at the table, unhappy with the answer, but not disputing it.

“The other news about the Knight-Vigilant... well, I would ask the Grand Cleric if she thinks this is an opportunity to get rid of Meredith Stannard, given that he was the one to reinstate her the last time.”

Petrice shook her head, also glowering. “I wish it were, but unfortunately, the Lady Seeker agreed with him about Meredith, and the Seekers do claim authority over Templar affairs if they so choose. The Divine would still have to overrule the Seeker, since, whatever Her Perfection’s reasons might have been, she did not dismiss Nicoline or the Seeker who accompanied Trentwatch here.”

Anders suppressed a snarl of discontentment. Caitlyn was disappointed, but she supposed that this was unfortunately a logical conclusion for the priest to make. “And having _two_ dismissals overturned would obviously diminish people’s perceptions of your authority,” she said. “Very well. We’ll have to continue trying to work around Meredith. At least we have a Divine-sanctioned means of doing so now, with this order for Kirkwall that the First Enchanter must have a vote in anything to do with the Circle, the Templars, or the apostate mages of the city.”

* * *

After the meeting, Merrill touched Caitlyn’s sleeve gingerly. She had been entirely silent, as was usual for her unless the subject of elves came up or she was specifically asked for her opinion, and apparently she had something to tell Caitlyn that she had not wanted to say in front of everyone else. Anders stood nearby, within hearing range but not so close that it would appear that he was trying to usurp Caitlyn’s position. She appreciated that in him, having become sensitive to men who held themselves above women—even women in authority—and behaved accordingly. Anders never did, and she always tried to treat him with consideration and respect in return. After her early struggles in 9:31 and 9:32, that had finally become reflexive following a few years of life together.

She cleared her thoughts quickly and turned to Merrill. The young elf looked very upset and concerned, and she began to talk before Caitlyn had even asked her what was the matter. “Varric and I visited my house in the alienage,” she said, “to take the rest of my things out. The eluvian was smashed!” she burst out, anger in her words now. “I know that it was already cracked, but they smashed it to powdered glass and beat the frame into a twisted... thing. The Knight-Commander’s Templars must have gone inside and destroyed it once they saw that it was magic!”

Caitlyn did not know what to say. On one hand, she was actually glad that this object was now destroyed beyond repair and could no longer be a temptation for Merrill—but at the same time, Meredith’s thugs had had no right to do it. Even if one took the traditionalist point of view that the authority of Templars included apprehending all apostate mages, it did not include wantonly destroying magical property that people owned. And, further—

“It was a cultural treasure of the elvhen!” Merrill continued furiously. “Even if my old clan did not appreciate it, that does not change this fact! And now it is gone, because of destructive shemlen who hate magic.”

Caitlyn had never seen her friend this angry before. “I am very sorry,” she managed. “I know what it meant to you. Do you want me to ask the Templar I trust to see if he can find out who did it?” She was not sure that indulging a possible revenge wish was the best idea, but she didn’t know what else Merrill wanted from her.

Merrill finally deflated, tears forming in her large eyes, which she promptly wiped away. “I... no,” she said, her voice suddenly husky. “I just... wanted to tell you about it. Varric is a good person, but... he is not a mage, and he doesn’t feel the same way about dwarven culture that I do about my heritage. You and Anders are not elvhen, but you are mages, and you have had things taken from you by Templars....”

_She is telling me as a friend, not as a subject or an advisor,_ Caitlyn realized. She pulled the elf woman into a hug. “I’m so sorry that they did it,” she said. “If you  _do_ decide there is anything you want me to try to do, let me know.”

Anders had stood aside, since Merrill had mentioned him but not turned to him. Finally, after several moments, he voiced his thoughts. “I understand that you’re upset about the artifact,” he said, “and it’s typical of that kind of Templar to want to stamp out everything to do with magic, because you’re right, they do hate it. But I’m also very concerned about why they were there at all. Are they still looking for you?”

Caitlyn released Merrill and faced her, her expression now serious. “Are you still living in the Hanged Man?” she asked. Merrill nodded, and Caitlyn quickly considered the choices before them. “Well... I guess that is probably the best choice, except for the coin it costs.”

“Varric pays. It is very kind of him.”

“Yes, it is,” Caitlyn agreed. “I was thinking, though, that you _could_ live in the Keep—or, probably, my mother’s house—if you wanted to, but that might be too obvious. Anders is probably right. Meredith had her eye on me for years, and she did not give up trying to arrest me until Petrice declared that she couldn’t. She doesn’t give up quickly when it comes to bothering mages. I haven’t thought about your situation lately, and I’m sorry for that....”

“You have had much to think about,” Merrill said, “between the Templars who were executed and everything that followed.”

“Yes, but you’re my friend, and you’re hiding from Meredith. I should have thought more about this. I’m glad that Varric has stepped in, but he shouldn’t have had to. If you want to hide in the Keep, in the family quarters....”

“I am supposed to represent elves in the Small Council,” Merrill said stoutly. “It is difficult enough to do that when I do not live in the alienage, but at least I can visit without too much difficulty. That would be much harder if I lived in the Keep. Perhaps _I_ would be safer, but what would be the point otherwise? To hide inside walls, rarely stepping outside, with no task, goal, or duty? I don’t want that.”

Caitlyn was humbled by Merrill’s words. “You have a point,” she agreed. “Just—be careful.”

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, life in Kirkwall returned to something like it had been before Anders had put the rapist Templars to death. The clinics in the Chantry and outer Keep were bustling, much to Anders’ pleasure, and he spent much of his day in the one at the Keep with Mal eagerly watching. He wished that his son could practice healing too, but they still had to hide that.

Meanwhile, Caitlyn decided, spurred by the conversation with Merrill, not to let another problem slip by her until it was too late and something bad had happened. She made almost daily inquiries of Varric about the status of the anti-dragon ballistae, the “deepstalkers,” until he finally had an affirmative answer for her.

“That’s great news!” she exclaimed. “Let’s cart them out to the mine and do this!”

“Are you sure _you_ should be there?” he asked. “We’re talking about a High Dragon, and you are the ruler of Kirkwall.”

“He’s right,” Anders added. “This is dangerous.”

She considered that. “There are places to hide. I wouldn’t need to cast spells, after all. The bolts are already runed with ice, aren’t they?”

“They are. You just want to see the dragon, don’t you?”

She suppressed a smirk. “I am a part-owner of the mine, so it’s important for me to see threats to my crew....”

“You want to see a High Dragon.”

“I want to see the dragon too!” exclaimed Mal, who had been listening at the door.

Anders and Caitlyn whirled around in surprise. “Absolutely not,” Anders said at once.

“Mother gets to go,” he objected.

“That’s because nobody can tell your mother ‘no’ about things like this,” he said, giving Caitlyn a dark look. “We can tell _you_ ‘no.’”

* * *

Although Caitlyn had assured herself that she did not need to cast spells, she still brought her strongest frost staff with her. _Just in case,_ she thought. She gazed at Varric and his crew, then shot Hubert—who was scowling in derision and skepticism—a contemptuous sneer. _Just you wait,_ she thought. She already had a certain legal document written up, just waiting for her signature and the date—and if the High Dragon appeared today, she would finish the job and he would no longer be a co-owner.

Anders gave her a tight, hard hug before they left for the mine. He was still not happy with her for doing this, but he was not going to argue about it. She hugged him back. “It’ll be fine,” she told him quietly. “The point of these weapons is that we don’t even have to be near the dragon to use them. They have more range than spells, in fact.”

He sighed. “I’m concerned about potentially provoking it to land. We had to fight a High Dragon while pursuing the Mother. It took four Grey Wardens to take it out, one of whom was a Fade spirit in a body that couldn’t be killed because it was already dead. Promise me that you won’t risk yourself needlessly.”

“I promise.”

The team set out for the mine, arriving at the site quickly. Caitlyn greeted the foreman. “We have the ballistae—the deepstalkers,” she said. “The dwarven crew know how to use them and they’re going to do that today, but once this dragon is chased off... or killed, if it comes to that... I want you to choose, or hire, some people who would be good at it, because I bought these and I want the workers to continue to guard the mine with them in the future.”

He nodded. “Understood, Your Grace. With your permission, I’ll call a break so that they can all watch how it’s done.”

“Permission granted.”

As the dwarves arranged the ballistae around the rim of the mine, concealed in rocks and branches, the miners emerged to the surface chattering in interest. They quickly hid themselves in a cave, which they seemed to believe would be safe from the dragon, and began to wait for it to make its appearance. Caitlyn held her staff tightly and sat next to Varric. On the other side of Varric sat Hubert, who could not help but make his opinion known.

“Having second thoughts, I guess, and that’s why you told them to use those contraptions to guard the mine, so it won’t feel like a complete waste of money. If it’s just another little dragon like you took care of three, four years ago, you’re going to look mightily sheepish.”

“Ah yes, another dragon that I ‘took care of’ because you didn’t believe your employees and didn’t care about their safety. Along with other beasts and undead. You do know that you are speaking to the ruler of Kirkwall. Think about that.”

His eyes popped, and he was about to say more—when a thunderous roar shook the enclave where they were hiding. A vast shadow darkened the empty expanse before them.

“There it is!” shouted one of the dwarves nearby. “Give it a volley!”

It was unquestionably a High Dragon, and a huge one. On the other side of Varric, Hubert was gaping in horror, shock, and humiliation. Fear and awe warred for primacy within Caitlyn as the creature came into view, flying across the mine entrance. The ballista bolts, even with ice magic applied to their sharp tips, looked like splinters compared to the size of the dragon.

They were also missing. The dragon was flying fast, and the dwarves did not want to waste bolts—which meant that they had fewer chances to hit it. It circled the mine twice before finally identifying one of the places where a deepstalker was hidden. It landed in the middle and inhaled, the fire gland within it glowing orange as it readied the flame burst. Caitlyn hoped that the dwarf who was manning that ballista would get to safety—

From the opposite side of the rim, an iced bolt struck the dragon on its left wing—not at the joint attaching it to the dragon’s body, but it nonetheless tore a hole through the middle of the wing. That would affect its flight. The dragon roared in pain, the fire gland dimming as it turned and changed its target.

As soon as it did, a bolt struck its right foreleg from a different angle. It roared in anger and pain again, stamping its feet, making the ground shake. A third bolt tore a hole in its other wing. The dragon raised its neck to roar, and flapped its wings as if to take off—when it noticed the miners who were huddled inside their cave. Its predatory gaze fixed upon them.

In that moment, Caitlyn did not think about the promise she had made to Anders or even the fact that she was in charge of a city. She leaped to her feet, staff in hand, a powerful frost spell already forming, even as Varric exclaimed her surname in dismay.

Standing on the sloping ledge in the middle of a circle of boulders, Caitlyn slammed her staff tip on the ground and cast the most powerful cold spell she could. The dragon froze, encased in white.

“Hawke! Are you mad? Get back up here!” shouted Varric, gaping in appalled disapproval.

While the dragon was frozen, the dwarves shot several ballista bolts at it. One of them finally hit the main wing joint. It tore through dragon flesh just as the frost spell wore off, making the dragon shriek in pain.

It apparently realized that it was surrounded, and that if it stayed here, it would die. With an angry roar, it attempted to flap its wings. Despite the injuries it sported, it was such an immensely large dragon that its wings were still not utterly useless, so it was able to gain some altitude. Though its flight was lopsided and low, it left, craning its neck back at last and sending a torrent of flame as a parting “gift.”

Caitlyn had scrambled back to the enclave where Varric and Hubert were, and the jet of flame would have hit the exact spot where she had stood to cast the ice spell on the dragon, she realized, her heart thumping. Hubert, she noted, had actually passed out.

“Maker’s fucking breath!” exclaimed Varric as she collapsed beside him. “I’m saying this as your friend, Hawke. What were you _thinking?”_

She tried to catch her breath. “I was thinking that those miners were all about to die.”

“Shit!” he cursed again to blow off steam. “Look, Hawke, I get that, but you are, frankly, too important to die like that.”

“I’m not accustomed to thinking that way,” she said.

“Well, you need to _get_ accustomed!” he exclaimed. “What about Anders and your boy? Think about them, at least!”

“I was confident of my ability to freeze the dragon,” she argued. “I wouldn’t have done that if I had doubts. This is my most powerful winter staff and I knew I could freeze the dragon in place so that I could escape before it could move again.”

Varric shook his head in disgruntlement. “I’m not going to tell Anders,” he said, “because that’s not my place. But _you_ should. The story will get around. Too many people saw it. Better that he hear it from you.” He scowled at Hubert, who was still passed out on the ground. “I kind of want to leave this trash here.”

“We can’t... but don’t worry. I have something special planned for him.”

* * *

Hubert’s shout of outrage echoed through the walls of the outer Keep. “You can’t do this!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, but I can,” Caitlyn said, a cold smile on her face. “I have documented a pattern of disregard for the miners, resulting, in previous years, in deaths and severe injuries they incurred from creatures that you would not invest in removing. By Kirkwall law, this meets the criteria for criminal negligence. In fact, given that there _were_ deaths in years past, I _could_ have you thrown in jail....” She trailed off pointedly, the smile on her face becoming rather menacing. “But fortunately, no one died today against the High Dragon, so I’m choosing to be merciful and relieve you of your ‘burden.’ The ownership share that was _formerly_ yours will be distributed among the other shareholders....” She feigned surprise; she was thoroughly enjoying this and could not conceal it. “Oh. That’ll be me. You are dismissed, serah.”

Hubert sputtered. “I knew I shouldn’t have hired any of you Fereldans!” he exclaimed. “You’ve stolen my mine out from under me! You’re all a bunch of conniving, manipulative, bandit  _dog lords,_ especially a bloody apostate mage!”

“Get out of the Keep before I rethink what I said about jail.” _And do I want the chance, you crude lout, to make somebody pay for how we were treated._

Hubert snarled but did not disobey. He stormed furiously from the office, leaving Caitlyn with Anders, Varric, and Aveline standing nearby.

She rose from her seat. “Well,” she said, “that’s done.”

Anders looked impatient and ready to talk to her alone. “Could we....”

Sighing, she led them out of the office. “Yes, I suppose we had better.”

* * *

“Caitlyn, why?” he burst out when they were alone in the family sitting room with Mal. “You promised me that you wouldn’t risk yourself.”

“I promised that I wouldn’t risk myself _needlessly._ The dragon was about to incinerate the entire mine crew. You would have done the same, Anders.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes,” he muttered, “you’re right. But I’m not the Viscount of Kirkwall! If anything happened to you, Meredith would take over the city!” He gazed pointedly at Mal, then back at her. “And  _we_ would be alone!”

She felt a pang. “I know,” she said, trying to soothe him, “and that’s why I was prepared. I brought an excellent staff and cast the most powerful spell I could. I didn’t take the dragon lightly and didn’t jump out to get into single combat with it. I cast something that would freeze it, so I could get out of the way while the dwarven crew took care of it. I wasn’t reckless. At least,” she amended, “it was as safe as facing a High Dragon could be.”

He sank on the divan next to her and covered his face with his hands. “I understand,” he managed, “but Maker, when I think of how it might have gone wrong....”

She placed an arm around his back. “It didn’t, though. I can’t ask you not to worry about me, but please  _trust_ me. Trust that I know my strengths.”

He lifted his head. “All right,” he croaked.

Mal finally spoke up. “How big was the dragon?” he asked, awed.

She managed a smile for him. “It was as big as a house,” she said. “A  _nice_ house. It was so big that the dwarves struck it with a dozen bolts and it could still fly away!”

“Is it coming back?”

“I don’t think so. It was looking for a place to lay eggs and raise its young, and it won’t pick a spot that it thinks is unsafe.”

“I wanted to see it,” he groused.

Anders chuckled brokenly. “Oh, not you too! You got it from her.”

“Oh really? I think he got it from both of us.” When he looked to argue, she smiled knowingly. “You have risked yourself plenty of times. Not to fight dragons, but for other things. He got it from both of us.”

He gazed down, looking sheepish. “I guess you’re right.”

* * *

Caitlyn heard the next day that Hubert had left Kirkwall, reportedly returning to his homeland of Orlais, cursing “thieving dog lords” and apostates even as he packed up. For a moment she worried that she had made another enemy who would swear revenge, but she dismissed that.  _He deserved what he got,_ she thought,  _and even if I enjoyed using my power that way—which I did—it was still the right thing to do._

With the mine situation settled, she considered her next moves against Meredith and her foreign adversaries.  _The healing clinics are going well,_ she thought.  _The next thing I need to do is to change policies in this Circle about the separation of siblings, of parents and children. That should be easy and uncontroversial. Even very conservative people who think mages should live in Circles their whole lives cannot justify why families should be torn apart._

She sent runners to the Gallows and the Chantry to convene a meeting to vote on the change in policy, which would specifically entail the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander writing to any other Circle that hosted the close relative of a mage in Kirkwall’s Circle to order the transfer of those relatives into Kirkwall. When the other three members of this group arrived at the Keep, she took note of the deep scowl on Meredith’s face—and also the fact that Orsino still was not consistently making eye contact with her.

When she explained what she wanted to do and held the impromptu vote, she expected Petrice’s yea vote and Meredith’s nay—but then the First Enchanter, with regret and shame filling his face, also voted nay.

“What?” she sputtered. “Why?”

Meredith smirked. “The vote is over, and you lost.”

“As Viscountess of Kirkwall, I am ordering the First Enchanter to explain his reasoning,” she said, ice in her words as she replied to the Templar.

Orsino looked up glumly. “It seems cruel, especially since you were raised in a family of apostates, but... there  _are_ reasons for it. People will do terrible, evil things for... love.”

“Exactly,” Meredith crowed. “Having strong emotional connections is a source of temptation. Not all mages are like you, Hawke, tempted by power, but any who have a close family member or lover would be vulnerable to putting that person ahead of what is right. Demons know this.”

Caitlyn chose to ignore Meredith’s personal barb and to address her argument instead. “Having ‘strong emotional connections’ is what enables most of us to care about someone other than ourselves,” she countered. “Having nobody that we care about destroys the ability to empathize with others and determine what is right.  _That_ is probably why some Circle mages turn bad—they become obsessed with the possibilities of magical experiments without considering the impact on people, because they don’t know how to.”

Orsino gazed forward at these words, looking past her, determinedly not meeting her eye to eye.

Meredith looked gleeful, however. She turned to Petrice. “The Viscountess declares that those without family or lovers cannot empathize or see what is right,” she said. “Do you agree with that, Grand Cleric, as one who took a vow of celibacy to serve the Maker?”

Caitlyn cut in immediately, furious that Meredith would twist her words like this. “Few are called to the priesthood,” she said, “and they  _choose_ to take those vows. Even if their families send them to the Chantry, they ultimately choose to take that vow instead of being lay sisters. Most people cannot keep such a vow, and Circle mages certainly don’t choose it.”

“The Viscountess is correct,” said Petrice. “Few are called to this life, and the Maker intends the great multitude to experience His grace through the love of family, spouses, and close friends.” Meredith’s face soured.

“So,” Caitlyn said with false sweetness, “do you care to reconsider your vote, in light of this information, First Enchanter?”

He sighed unhappily. “I can’t. You don’t know what I have seen.”

Meredith smirked. “I believe that settles it, then.”

Caitlyn slammed her hand down on the tabletop and stood up, followed by the other three. “I  _order_ you to explain what you have ‘seen,’ First Enchanter.”

“You don’t have the authority,” said Meredith. “That belongs to me.”

“Did you order him to vote with you?” she demanded.

Meredith moved her hand to the sheath of her blade, but she did not draw it. Caitlyn readied her staff. “Do  _not_ draw that sword here,” she warned. “Whether you like it or not, I  _am_ the Viscountess of Kirkwall, and drawing your blade in my presence is an act of treason. And you know very well that I will seek justice against traitors, unlike my predecessor.”

Meredith moved her hand and glared back at Caitlyn. “Come, Orsino,” she commanded. “Let us return to the Gallows.”

When they left, she turned to Petrice.

“She has,” the priest said at once. “I am willing to guarantee it.”

Caitlyn drew her breath and let it out at once. “Yes, she must have,” she agreed, “but why would he do it? Would she really threaten his life if he didn’t,  _knowing_ that it was Divine Justinia’s own command for him to take part and that she would easily guess what had happened if Orsino died after voting against Meredith?”

“I cannot explain why he would agree to it. Perhaps there is more to it than that. I regret that this vote didn’t go as planned... because in comparison with the rest of the changes you and your husband seek to make, this would have been an easy one.”

“An easy one, and one that Anders and I really wanted,” she lamented. “Tearing families apart is an atrocity! This is what motivated us from the start.”

* * *

“She has something on him,” Anders concluded once Caitlyn had told him of the vote.

“She must,” she said bitterly. “She must be blackmailing and threatening him with _something..._ but what?”

“It can’t be that he helped apostates or anything like that,” he said. “If he did, that is. It must be something that would personally offend you.”

“That makes sense, but I cannot imagine what that could be. I’ve never had any dealings with him. The only time I have even worked with him was during the Qunari attack, and he helped us!”

“He’s not young. Maybe he did something against your father years ago. I can’t think of what else it might be,” he said, shaking his head.

She sighed, shaking her head. “I have no idea, and that troubles me. If she has successfully blackmailed him into voting with her all the time, nothing is going to get changed now. The Divine could not have anticipated this. I wonder if maybe I should hope that we are wrong, and that he really did agree with her about the topic today.”

Anders scowled. “Then he’s unlikely to support anything more radical.”

“I know.”

* * *

Whatever might have been Orsino’s reason for voting against the reform, it emboldened Meredith—and her supporters, who somehow learned of the vote and chortled and gloated about it in the streets. The very next day, when Aveline announced the completion of training for several Harrowed mages to support the City Guard, Meredith made an announcement herself from the steps of the Gallows.

“This is a sad day for Kirkwall,” she said. “Mages are now going to be in the City Guard, enforcing the law against Kirkwall civilians without Templar supervision. As skilled and loyal as our fine guards are, they simply do not have the special abilities to control unruly blood mages who can even use their powers to manipulate minds and sow deception. I am not accusing any of the specific mages chosen of being blood mages, but _if_ there are any who wormed their way in through their unholy craft, this could happen. A single blood mage could corrupt the entire City Guard _and_ all the mages who now support it! Think of the terrible risk. Although I am aware that the new Grand Cleric believes differently, I think she is mistaken. The Chant of Light forbids magic ruling over man, and mages enforcing the law is ‘ruling.’” With an angry, yet satisfied, glower on her face, she turned aside and retreated into the Gallows.

In the assembled crowd, numerous people yelled in outrage and raised fists, knives, and pitchforks. Mettin—no longer Ser Mettin—glowered like Meredith had. One female voice called out, “If they’re violating the Maker’s law, we don’t have to obey them! The Maker’s law is greater than human rules!”

A male voice agreed loudly with her, adding, “And that means that the apostates in the Keep are also violating the Maker’s law!”

Varric, who was lurking well-concealed in a shadowed area near the merchants, scowled and turned aside before going to the Keep.

* * *

“Let her talk,” Caitlyn seethed. “Let her rile up her mob. If they dare _do_ anything, they will now run afoul of mages. Every one of those mages was investigated, but that doesn’t stop her from insinuating that they might be blood mages out to take over the City Guard. Just let one of that ignorant mob say that to their faces, though! I would dearly love for some of those people to be apprehended by mages.”

Anders smiled to himself. “So you understand how I felt.”

“Oh, I understood from the beginning,” she agreed. “That doesn’t mean it was politically wise for you to do what you did. But this is different. These mages are allowed to act as guards, and to use magic against criminals only if it is absolutely necessary to arrest them or stop ongoing criminal activity.”

“Which means they probably will not be the ones to apprehend common miscreants like that,” Anders pointed out.

“That’s true,” she admitted. “Still. Meredith is unleashing something that she cannot control, and she isn’t going to like what that will mean!”

* * *

Meredith’s supporters continued to spread their ugly, seditious talk on the streets, both by standing in the Lowtown marketplace and Hanged Man to hold forth, and by conversing among themselves. It continued even after a special team of experienced guards and the Arcane Guard—as the mages were called—cleaned out a gang of slavers headed by an _actual_ blood mage, an operation that probably would have cost numerous lives if the mages had not been present to counter magic with magic. _Most_ of the people of Kirkwall appreciated the efforts of the Arcane Guard in rooting out crime, and the healing clinics in the Keep and the Chantry were growing more popular by the day, but perversely, this fact only seemed to make the opposition grow more and more vehement.

Then, suddenly, the rhetoric took a turn for the worse.

The former Templar, Mettin, was unabashedly a leader of the anti-mage mob now, unconstrained by any obligation of presenting a fig leaf of propriety and restraint in his remarks. He could claim, as could Meredith, that they were not communicating with each other at all, and nobody could prove otherwise.

“Kirkwall has fallen into darkness!” he proclaimed loudly. “This so-called Grand Cleric is too young, too recently made a priest, and her association with the mages in the Keep taints her appointment. She was the priest who wed them and legitimized their bastard child, and she must have known what Hawke was at the time! By conspiring with an apostate, she reveals herself to be a heretic and a false priest!”

His supporters, who had gathered to listen, shouted.

“Now they have let mage ‘Healers’ operate in the Keep and the Chantry!” he exclaimed. “Even the Knight-Commander, holy as she is, is prevented from speaking the truth about _this._ My friends, do you know what mage healing truly is?”

“Defying the will of the Maker!” shouted a woman. “He alone decides matters of sickness and health, life and death!”

Mettin smiled. “It is true, sister,” he said, “but there is more than that! Mage Healers keep patients alive by forcing demons of the Fade into their bodies to keep them from failing!”

The crowd erupted in fury and terror at this lie. In the midst of the tumult, a lone voice, a young man, spoke up uneasily. “I don’t think that’s right,” he said. “My mum went to the Chantry and got healed of a burn, and I didn’t see no demons! Just blue magic light.”

“Ah, but the demons only enter those who are at death’s door,” Mettin said. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and the smell of lyrium surrounded him, though no one in the crowd could identify it. “Was it a Spirit Healer who treated your mum, boy?”

“I... don’t know.”

Mettin addressed the crowd again. “Spirit Healers make deals with demons. And do you know what else? The mage Anders, the one who used unholy powers to kill Templars not too many weeks ago, is one! Always has been, even when he lurked in Darktown at the behest of the Grey Wardens. I call him ‘Lord Abomination’!”

This set the crowd raving, frothy with anger and fear.

“Mages in the City Guard, mages forcing demons into the bodies of innocent people, a heretic Grand Cleric, an apostate Viscountess, and an abomination consort!” he shouted, raising his fist to the sky. “Who among us will stand up for the Maker?”

The crowd roared in response. In the back, one man, the same one who had stood at the Gallows and declared that Caitlyn’s family in the Keep violated the Maker’s law, said, quietly and resolutely, _“I will.”_

* * *

“I want him arrested,” Caitlyn announced once she learned of this rally from Aveline, who had had guards in Lowtown who overheard it. “That crosses a line. Enough is enough.”

“I will see to it at once,” Aveline said briskly. “I agree that this kind of talk goes too far.” She gave Caitlyn a nod of acknowledgment and left with Donnic Hendyr to dispatch some guards to find Mettin and bring him in.

Anders had been quiet throughout the discussion. Finally he spoke, looking deeply troubled. “He knows too much. How in the Void does he _know?”_

Caitlyn sat down beside him and placed an arm on his shoulders. “I wouldn’t assume that he knows. He was spouting lies about healing and Spirit Healing. If he believes what he is saying—which he probably does—then he would assume that it applied to you.”

“He singled me out to call ‘abomination.’ I can’t think that’s coincidental.”

“Anders—”

He gazed fearfully at her. “Caitlyn, love, I understand what you said, and it does make sense. But... I have a bad feeling about it. I don’t know how he knows, but somehow, he knows.”

“Well... I can’t argue against a bad feeling,” she said, “but if you really think that, then consider who, exactly, has seen Justice in control—and is still alive to tell the tale. Would any of those people have been in a position to pass that on to Mettin?”

Anders considered. _Caitlyn, Mal... though he doesn’t know what he saw... Carver, our friends... the young girl Ella... Hendyr and Thrask, during that same fight...._ He thought harder. It was possible that any number of people might have seen brief crackles of light pass over his body at some point, but the number of people who had seen the spirit in full control was very small. Of the people he had just thought of, the only one he could even consider at all was Thrask, because he was a Templar, and yet he did not believe that. Thrask had warned them about Mettin years ago; he was not a friend of Mettin’s.

Suddenly another memory swam to the surface of his thoughts. _“And yet the ‘Tranquil Solution’ was hardly the holocaust you imagined,” sneered Prince Sebastian._ Before Anders had socked him in the face, Vengeance had briefly taken over, and Sebastian had noticed it. _“Fuck,”_ he swore, clutching his forehead.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. He looked up at her miserably and confessed it. “When I hit Sebastian in the face... it was Vengeance who did it.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “I didn’t realize that.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have told you. I didn’t even think of the repercussions of it. I was so furious—and I guess I wasn’t in my right mind for much of that. Caitlyn, I am so, so sorry—it makes sense now—”

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly against her. “You _do not_ know that Sebastian communicates with Mettin at all,” she said, “and even if he does, you don’t know that he would tell Mettin that specific detail or that either of them would work out what it meant.”

He breathed heavily, trying to see it as she did, trying to convince himself that he was being too paranoid.

“In all likelihood, Mettin just said it today because he knows that you are a Spirit Healer and believes his own lies about them. Invoking your name, making _you_ the face of this for that ignorant mob, has more power than talking about some Spirit Healer from the Circle that nobody has heard of.”

_Maker, I hope you’re right,_ he thought as he hugged her in return.

* * *

Aveline and Donnic trudged back into the Keep late that night, very displeased, interrupting the family’s storytime with Mal.

“I’m so sorry,” Aveline said, looking it as Baldwin and Pounce rose to their feet at the entrance of armored people into the family sitting room. “We were unable to find Mettin. He seems to have gone to ground, and nobody knows where.”

Caitlyn groaned, rising from her chair, placing the storybook in Anders’ arms to continue reading to Mal. _The Viscountess must talk with the Captain of the Guard,_ she thought grouchily, _even at the expense of precious family time._

They closed the door and talked quietly outside. “Lowtown itself is ill at ease,” Aveline reported in a low voice. “I’ve called a curfew, because it unsettles me. Nobody even seems to know what became of the people gathered in that crowd to listen to Mettin. My suspicion, and Donnic agrees, is that they are all camped out together somewhere, probably Darktown. I don’t like it.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes, feeling a chill shoot down her spine at her friend’s vague unease. “Did it seem to you that anyone was hiding something when they said they didn’t know where any of these people were?”

“Not really, no. Most people seem to quietly disagree with him and support you—support the clinics, at least, even if they do have misgivings about mages in the Guard. Meredith has not condemned the healing clinics, after all, and for people like that, her voice carries weight because she is also an authority figure and they still think of her as a hero of Kirkwall. This group that listens to Mettin seems to be in a kind of self-segregation from the rest of the people.”

“What do you advise?” Caitlyn asked frankly.

“I? I advise you to ask the Grand Cleric to order—yes, _order—_ Meredith to make a statement denouncing this talk. If the Knight-Commander herself says that Mettin is wrong, that will surely shut up a lot of it.”

Caitlyn considered that before nodding. “I’ll do that. Thank you so much for everything, Aveline. Don’t give up trying to find these people.”

* * *

Late the next day, the Grand Cleric stood by the Knight-Commander, smiling grimly, as the Templar tacked a notice to the Chanter’s Board. An identical notice already graced the wall of the Gallows outside the Circle and Templar quarters, and a third one was posted outside the Keep.

 

_Most mage Healers do not call on aid from Fade spirits to support their healing spells. Only Spirit Healers such as the “Lord Consort” of Kirkwall rely on aid from spirits to increase the power of their spells. Further, magic healing does not involve turning patients into abominations. The Circle of Kirkwall and the Knight-Commander hope that this explanation clarifies concerns that civilians may feel about mage healing._

 

“That’s not good enough,” Anders exclaimed when he saw it. “That won’t convince anyone that Mettin was lying about Spirit Healers, and since he specifically named me and so did she, I think it’s clear that they are still in cahoots!”

“We already knew that they were still in cahoots,” Caitlyn pointed out, “but we couldn’t prove it—and we still can’t. She could say that you are the most prominent example of a Spirit Healer and that she was _responding_ to Mettin’s talk about you by name. Until Aveline can find and arrest Mettin himself for questioning, we can’t prove that they are communicating.” He glowered, but she placed a hand gently on his shoulder to calm him. “I know, love. It frustrates me too. But this is what we have to do. Once we can get something shocking enough against Meredith, Divine Justinia will have the pretext for upholding Petrice’s dismissal of her—or ordering it at last herself—and even the Lady Seeker won’t be able to defend Meredith.”

“I really hope it isn’t too late by that time,” he said, “and that you are _right._ These people are fanatics. They believe what they want to believe, whether the facts support them or not. Sebastian refuses to believe the evidence of a note in Elthina’s handwriting. Do you truly think that the Lady Seeker, or that snake of a Seeker who accompanied Trentwatch here, will believe what Mettin says during questioning? They’ll probably accuse you of torturing him into a false confession.”

She grimaced, not having thought of that.

“I wouldn’t even count on people believing that healing is benign, even with this note,” he said dourly. “Aveline’s guards reported that Mettin had claimed Meredith was ‘prevented from speaking the truth,’ and people did see Petrice standing beside her, forcing her to post those notices.”

Caitlyn glanced at him in concern. His mood was extremely dark, and it bothered her when he was acting this way. She took his arm and squeezed it. “Then you’ll need to show the people with your own deeds that healing is good and benign,” she said. “Some people will never be convinced, but if we can keep the majority on our side, that should be enough.”

“A good example,” he agreed. He finally managed a smile. “What can I say? You’ve been right about that every time you suggested it. I shouldn’t doubt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she said teasingly, pleased that he sounded happier.

He linked his arm around hers and entered the family quarters of the Keep.

* * *

_The next morning._

The day dawned bright, with a vividly blue sky above Kirkwall. Even Lowtown, which was often blanketed with dust, got to enjoy the beautiful weather. It was the kind of day for people to want to see to business, and for the ill to feel that they could seek healing without their condition worsening by exposure to the elements, so the clinics were full that morning.

_The blue sky did not reach Darktown. There, in a hideout formerly used by a criminal operation—a gang of hardened thugs led by a lethal assassin named Brekker, who had been brought to justice by Caitlyn herself a couple of years ago, ironically—a door opened, and a single figure ascended a staircase with a pack strapped to his back._

Anders had spent the morning thinking about Caitlyn’s words. He wanted desperately to believe that she was right, and that eventually something would happen to break the stalemate. Despite the likes of Mettin and his mob, despite the foreign interference and encouragement from Starkhaven and Tantervale, even despite the covert rebellion in the Chantry, Meredith Stannard was the source of their problems in Kirkwall. If she could be removed, they would at least be free to make reforms to the Circle and remove the person that he was sure was the nexus for communications both from abroad and from the anti-mage locals in Kirkwall.  _We got rid of Elthina,_ he thought as he supervised the Healers with Mal happily in tow.  _It isn’t perfect, of course, but if she were still here, Caitlyn certainly would not be Viscountess, and things would be so much worse. We got rid of her, and we can get rid of Meredith. Caitlyn is right. We just need to catch her in something utterly indefensible like we did Elthina._

The young mage Ella, who had almost been victimized by Alrik, passed quickly by Anders, keeping her head down as she attended to a new patient.

“Father,” Mal spoke up with a nod to the door, “that one looks like she needs help.”

Anders turned to the door, where a very elderly woman was hobbling inside with the aid of a walking stick. Instantly, he went to the door to assist her.

“Such a nice young man,” she said in a scratchy voice as he helped her to an empty seat. “I don’t believe what that fool said about you, you know.”

Anders managed a smile. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Healers want to help people, and those of us who are Spirit Healers only work with good spirits, like spirits of compassion or faith... or justice. The First Children of the Maker. Never demons.”

“Demons don’t heal anybody,” the woman agreed. She pointed to her knees. “Now, my lord, if you could take a look at these old legs....”

As Mal watched in interest, Anders—feeling his heart swell—began to cast diagnostic spells to determine what the woman needed done.

_The man exited Darktown, adjusting his pack carefully as he blinked in the bright sunlight. It was crucial for it to remain balanced. If its contents jostled, it would be disastrous._

Caitlyn had little to do that morning, so she decided to spend time with her family—and they were in the clinic.  _And why shouldn’t I be there?_ she thought happily as she descended the steps to the outer Keep.  _I am a mage too._ She rounded the corner that led to the large room set aside for the patients and opened the door.

“Mother!” exclaimed Mal in surprise. Several patients looked up as well and tried to bow, as did the Healers.

“No, don’t do that!” Caitlyn said immediately. “You are unwell or busy! Don’t stop for me! I’m just here to watch... and to be with my family.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” said a mage hurriedly. “We only wanted to show our respect for you. It’s because of you that....”

She smiled. “I understand, and thank you. And I’d rather you did that by continuing to heal these people.” She crossed the clinic to stand beside Anders and Mal, examining the bustle of activity. “Busy day, it seems.”

“That’s all right,” said Anders as he finished casting a healing spell on the elderly woman’s arthritic knees. “Everyone here had a reason for coming.”

_The man changed his stride to appear as though he had difficulty walking. He rummaged in his pocket and brought out a small vial of liquefied rashvine. Grimacing, he swallowed it and immediately burst into a coughing fit as he passed into Hightown. The Keep was closer than the Chantry. The man burned with anger at the thought of it. The Keep of Kirkwall, occupied by the apostate and abomination and their bastard spawn, whose very existence was forbidden by the Maker, as mages should not breed. But he had sworn to stand up for the Maker, and this was the day of reckoning. He was not a Templar, knew no Templars except for the one who spoke in Lowtown, and had never had any contact with magic, but he believed in the righteousness of his cause._

_He climbed the steps of the Keep, still hobbling and coughing. The guards instantly admitted him, determining at once that he was a patient for the clinic. No one spared a second glance for his pack._

“Oh, Maker’s breath!” exclaimed the guard at the entrance to the clinic at the entrance of the coughing man. “Yes, of course, come in—it’s busy right now, but somebody will get to you soon.”

Still coughing, he stepped inside and took off his pack, holding it in his hands, scanning the room. The Healers were busy indeed, blasting people with magic. His gaze narrowed at the sight of the murderous abomination as he meddled with an old lady, his child watching in fascination.  _Probably a mage too,_ he thought.

Then his gaze was captured by a flash of bright orange-red and extremely fine silk.  _The usurper Viscountess herself,_ he thought in shock and delight. There was no doubt of it; she was even carrying her staff with her. His decision was instantly made, and, taking careful aim, he threw his pack in the direction of Caitlyn.

She and Anders saw it and understood the instant that he threw the object into the air. In the space of half a second, they were screaming  _“Duck!”_ and grabbing Mal to cover him.

The pack hit the ground and exploded in a flash of blinding light, heat, acrid chemicals, and dangerously sharp shrapnel from the broken glass that had held the volatile chemicals separately until they were violently mixed.

Windows blew out from the power of the explosion. Shrieks filled the air, blood droplets sprayed the floor and the walls, and, as the smoke cleared, the screams of terror gave way to shouts of pain and agony.

Caitlyn had managed to shield Mal from everything except the smoke and the loud bang, and she herself had incurred only mild wounds from shrapnel and chemical burns, none of them on her head or face. The smoke was clearing, though, and as she stumbled to sit upright, she realized with horror that most of the people in the clinic were not so lucky.

The elderly woman whom Anders had been treating was knocked flat on the floor, one of her recently healed legs clearly broken. Several of the Healers were trying to mop up their own bleeding arms, legs, and faces, unable to heal anyone until they stopped their own blood from spurting out. One of the patients was sobbing and covering half of his face, a pool of blood on the floor before him as he screamed for his eye. The apprentice Ella was prone on the ground, screaming in agony, blood pouring from her legs—which were both blown off at the knee. She would die in less than a minute if it wasn’t stopped.

Anders staggered to his feet, leaning on his mage’s staff for a moment. His hands were bloodied, and his face was filled with such fury as Caitlyn had never seen, even when he had fought Templars. He scanned the clinic quickly, taking in the carnage, then slammed the bottom of his staff on the floor. A blast of blue healing magic as bright as the bomber’s explosion filled the clinic, waves of magic rippling across the floor all the way to the walls. Caitlyn felt the healing waves rush over her and suture her minor wounds. She pulled Mal close, gazing at Anders in awe. Time seemed almost frozen for her.

Anders shared a momentary glance of desperation with her as his strength flagged. He coughed and leaned on the staff for another fraction of a second, and then Justice took him over. The spirit filling him, he stood upright—and cast the same unbelievably powerful healing spell once more.

The second blast of magic sealed most of the victims’ wounds, stopping the bleeding even if it did not fully heal the skin itself. The only exceptions were the patient who had, it turned out, lost one eye, and Ella—and the attacker, who had been blasted in the gut with a shard of glass from his own homemade chemical bomb.

Justice relinquished control again, retreating, but only for a moment. In the next, Anders was standing upright, the light of Justice blazing from his eyes again, as he cast the spell a third time. With this, the bleeding on the remaining two victims slowed to a mere trickle. The man would never see from two eyes again, and Ella would never walk again, but they would not die this day either.

Anders hobbled to his knees, finally overcome, as Justice fled and did not return this time. He heaved his breath and clutched his staff as if his life depended on it, even as Caitlyn and Mal tried to reach him.

The assassin, however, was fully recovered—and furious. He snarled at the wreckage of his bomb and drew a dagger from his belt.  _“Abomination!”_ he roared at Anders, flinging the dagger through the air.

Anders gazed back helplessly, completely and utterly spent, seeing what was coming but unable to stop it. Caitlyn and Mal let out cries of horror and outrage as the dagger sank into Anders’ left shoulder. He gasped, then tumbled to the ground.

Caitlyn halted in her tracks and whirled on the man, hate filling every ounce of her body. Even as Aveline and a group of guards reached the clinic to apprehend the malefactor, she opened her arms wide, slammed her staff tip hard on the ground, and blasted him with a force spell that crushed his arms with a sickening crunch and sent him flying into the wall, knocked out cold.

As Aveline’s people took the assassin away, Caitlyn and Mal finally fell to their knees before Anders. “Please,” she whispered, feeling the side of his neck, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Please—”

To her infinite relief, a pulse thumped in a regular beat. She took a shaky breath as Mal sobbed into her shoulder and cast the one healing spell she knew. It seemed horribly feeble right now, but it was enough. Anders opened his eyes, choked out a gasping sob of his own, and weakly enveloped his family in a hug with his unhurt arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure you all know exactly what Meredith has on Orsino that would personally offend Hawke, of course.
> 
> I’m not going to warn for violence unless it is what I’d consider AO3 Explicit (a scene at the end of Chapter 10 in _Spells of Healing_ ) or involves potentially upsetting details (such as what happened in Chapter 13 in this fic).


	18. Become a Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is “Peace on Earth” by U2. The verse following the one that's the chapter title is, “So the monster will not break you.” After dancing on the line of it last chapter, Caitlyn goes full autocrat now… but as you will see, it does not only apply to her.
> 
> Thank you all once again for reading the story, and I’m sorry for the delay. I took a trip this past week, but in addition, I struggled with this chapter and I’m still not sure how well I like it. But cleanup/transitional chapters are necessary after a major event, I suppose, and that’s mostly what this one is.

It was all Caitlyn could do to stop the Keep from falling into utter chaos. With her injuries healed from Anders’ self-sacrificial blasts of healing magic, all that she faced now was mental shock from the attack—and terror for him. After waking up to hug them, he had tumbled down again in pain, the dagger still lodged in his arm, and promptly passed out once more. Some of the recovered Healers were attending to Ella or the patients who had received severe wounds and still needed some mopping up, but one who was free approached him and cut away the clothing. The Healer snarled in anger at the sight of Anders’ arm. Mal saw the bleeding wound and let out another miserable cry; he seemed in shock.

The mage Healer lifted Anders gingerly to his feet and eased his lifeless body to a cot. “Your Grace, he should be fine,” he tried to reassure Caitlyn and Mal. “It’s deep, but nothing we can’t deal with.” He immediately got to work. Another Healer scrambled to her feet with pained grimaces as she rose from the floor and began to work on Anders as well.

Caitlyn swallowed her fear. “Do you think he’ll still be able to use that arm?” she asked as bravely as she could manage.

“Most likely,” the female Healer said.

_ If Justice takes him over again.... _ She swallowed that fear too; surely the spirit would not seize control right now—and surely mages, Spirit Healers perhaps, would not be too troubled by the sight anyway. She took a deep breath and steered Mal’s fixated gaze away from his father.

_ There is nothing more for me to do here, _ she thought, gazing around the wreckage of the clinic.  _ I am not a specialist in this magic... and I need to find out what else has happened, if this was a solitary attack or there were others. _

“No one else enters!” she demanded of the guards whom Aveline had sent to guard the doors to the clinic.

“Your Grace, we’re very sorry; if we had searched that one’s pack, this might not have happened,” a guard pleaded. “We could search anyone else who comes inside... there might be patients from elsewhere in the city, if that monster did not act alone....”

_ “No one  _ enters,” she insisted, her gaze hard and her eyes wide. “They have plenty of work to do in there already, and I don’t trust  _ any  _ strangers at this moment!” Holding her son close, she walked into the outer Keep.

* * *

Caitlyn locked them in the family quarters and held Mal close, sitting on a divan in the sitting room. Baldwin and Pounce ambled up. The dog sat down at Caitlyn’s feet and the cat jumped on the divan, rubbing against them. That broke her. Tears began to form and leak from her eyes, and she shook as she held her son even more tightly. This upset Mal in turn.

“He’s hurt and you’re crying! He’s going to die, isn’t he?” Mal exclaimed tearfully.

A surge of guilt flooded her. She tried to dry her eyes. “No,” she said feelingly, rubbing his shoulders. “He made himself tired by being a hero, casting those spells to try to save everyone. The Healers are going to take care of him until he is strong enough to fix himself. I’m crying because what happened in the clinic was so shocking.”

Mal whimpered and cuddled against his mother. She held him in a looser embrace than before, closed her eyes, and tried to think calming, rational thoughts. _We will have to make some changes,_ she thought. _The patients will have to be searched. That should stop this from happening next time._

Her thoughts then shifted.  _This happened because of Mettin’s rhetoric. Aveline thought that he and his followers were lurking in Darktown two nights ago, so they might have schemed together. Mettin might have known about this. If that assassin survived, I’m going to find out, and either way, I am going to make an example of him. Let these fanatics see what happens when they do things like this!_

She and Mal cuddled each other silently, trying to comfort each other, until Aveline knocked at the door. Caitlyn admitted her. She entered, still in her armor, and stood to the side.

Caitlyn glanced quickly down at Mal, then back at Aveline inquiringly, asking her without words if he needed to leave. Aveline shook her head, and Caitlyn relaxed. “What’s the news?” she asked.

“The Chantry clinic wasn’t attacked,” she said. “No activity in the city. The attack on the Keep appears to have been the only one.”

“Any sign of Mettin or his supporters?” she asked in hard tones.

“I really think they must have a hideout in Darktown,” said Aveline. “I could send guards to search all of the known places, but I cannot guarantee that they will be found. If this was planned, they will probably have moved.”

Caitlyn suppressed a swear. “Very well. Search the known spots in Darktown.” She glowered ahead. “What of the assassin?”

“Recovered and in jail. He is in his right mind. I presume that—”

“He will be questioned, and then he will suffer the full penalty of the law,” Caitlyn said. “That was an assassination attempt; therefore, he is guilty of high treason even if no one in the clinic died.”

* * *

Leandra and the Amells burst into the Keep later, Leandra herself in tears, hugging her family as soon as she could get them alone. “Oh, my dears,” she said, reaching for her grandson, “I can’t believe it! But you’re all right.”

“We are,” Caitlyn said. “And there were no deaths in the clinic, it seems. One of the Healer apprentices lost both of her legs, and a patient lost an eye.”

Leandra’s face fell. “So terrible,” she said quietly. “Is Anders all right?”

“He overexerted himself, casting spells to heal everyone in the clinic of mortal injuries—which included the assassin, who then threw a blade at him. He is sleeping and recovering.”

“Actually, he is here now,” announced a familiar male voice.

They whirled around to see Anders standing in the doorway, a weak, sad smile on his face. His left upper arm was bandaged. In the next few moments, he was mobbed.

“Poor, poor dear,” Leandra said, hugging him. She planted a kiss on his cheek and released him to Caitlyn and Mal.

“Father,” Mal said, holding him. A single tear trickled down his face. Anders bent down to return the hug.

* * *

“I almost lost you,” Caitlyn said after they had left, clutching him. She buried her head in his chest and felt a surge of warmth as he hugged her. “But you saved all those people, my love. No one died, and it was because of you.”

He said nothing, just holding her in place.

“I can’t let this happen again,” she continued, rubbing his sides, relishing the fact that he was here and all right. “I know that the Healers have to do their job, and by all means, offer your expertise about whether my ideas will work... but I don’t want strangers entering that clinic again until they have been searched. I’m not sure what should be done about the ones who are clearly bleeding to death....”

“If it is an emergency, Healers will immediately take the patient to a cot. That man was able to stand around just long enough to throw his bomb at you.”

She nodded. “Aveline said that there hadn’t been another attack, but they haven’t found Mettin and his group yet. I want an example made of this one, though.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, shifting and lifting his arms from her head.

“He threw his bomb at us. At me. Even though no one was killed, attacking one’s ruler is high treason. I want to send the message to Mettin and his followers that I am the lawful and rightful Viscountess of Kirkwall and that attacks like this have severe consequences.”

He nodded. “I don’t blame you. When I think of what could have happened to you... to Mal....” He broke off, his face curdling in anger.

“And when I think of what could have happened to you....”

They hugged tightly again.

* * *

An unpleasant task awaited Caitlyn. She was determined to know if the assassin had acted alone or if he had been part of a broader plot. More importantly, she wanted to know if Meredith Stannard knew anything. If she could prove that the Knight-Commander knew about this, that would be a piece of information on which Divine Justinia would _have_ to act.

Anders was momentarily tempted to go with her to question the prisoner, but he quickly thought better of it. “I would be very likely to lose control,” he acknowledged, “not for myself, but for the others. That lunatic tried to kill you. He attacked our _child,_ tried to turn a place of sanctuary into a charnel house, and maimed two people permanently.” He breathed heavily as a flash of light shot down his neck. “Yes, I would lose control. And... tonight, I just want to be with Mal. And you,” he added. “I know that you have to do this... but could you come back soon? I don’t want to be without you....”

His voice had become so plaintive toward the last, and it was such a sudden shift from the simmering anger at the atrocity, that she had to hug him. “I won’t be out long,” she said. “I’m not looking forward to it, but it must be done.”

She passed out of the inner Keep and toward the cells. Aveline was waiting for her, a glower on the Guard-Captain’s face. “I thought you would come,” she said. “I wish you luck. I can’t get a damned thing out of him.”

Caitlyn clutched her staff. Her eyes narrowed. “I bet I can.” Aveline raised her eyebrows at the implication but did not argue. She had, after all, just admitted mages into the City Guard for their unique talents. The two women clomped into the jail cells and headed down the dank, cold corridor to the end, where the assassin was imprisoned.

He glowered hatefully at their approach, a sullen, defiant sneer on his face. “I said nothing for the guard and I’ll say nothing for you, apostate. You are no rightful Viscountess. The Maker curses you for your defiance of His holy law and I am on His side.”

“You’re wrong, but you’ll get what you wanted, to be a martyr,” Caitlyn said coldly. “Tell me, if you believe Mettin’s lie that Healers send Fade spirits into their patients’ bodies, since _you_ were the unintended and _undeserving_ beneficiary of my husband’s healing magic, do you believe _you_ are now an abomination?”

“The Maker protects His faithful. The demons come to those who seek out the ‘help’ of mages.” He glared at her, a fanatical, borderline insane gleam in his eyes. “If you are going to execute me anyway—a noble death, dying for the Maker at the hands of an apostate—then what are you here for?”

Caitlyn smiled, but it was a cold, chilling, menacing smile. “You are going to die,” she said, “but I thought I might tell you about the punishment for high treason, of which you are guilty for trying to kill me, along with attempted murder and a host of other crimes.” She raised her chin slightly, gazing down upon him with contempt. “Viscount Dumar was a good man, but he was a weak leader, and justice was not often served during his reign. Even during the brief period when he had Elthina in his custody, he only considered hanging her, which is _not_ the maximum penalty for high treason in the law codex of Kirkwall.” Her smile became somewhat frozen. “The maximum penalty does include hanging—but not to the point of death, and _not_ with a sudden, sharp drop that breaks the neck, providing a quick end. Instead, the traitor cannot breathe for a couple of minutes, writhing and twisting.” She took a breath of her own; despite her own fury at what this man had done, this subject was exceedingly unpleasant to talk about. “After that, the traitor is taken down from the noose, still alive, and laid out on the table to be disemboweled, beheaded, drawn, and quartered.” She spoke through clenched teeth, green eyes wide and angry. “It is only when the traitor’s head is cut off that he dies. He is alive and conscious for the entire process up to that point.”

The prisoner glanced down at the floor uncomfortably. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. However, he was resolutely silent.

“If you do not give me the information I want, I _will_ see that this is done to you. No doubt you and your ‘friends’ think that what my lord husband did to the rapists was horrible because it was magic. By the end of _this,_ you will be begging for an execution by magic.” She breathed deeply again. “However, if you cooperate, I will only have you hanged, and it will be a quick death.”

The malefactor stared at the floor for a moment before closing his eyes. A fervent, almost incoherent prayer passed from his lips, words repeated over and over, a plea to the Maker to give strength to his “faithful servant.” Caitlyn and Aveline exchanged looks of irritation.  _He truly thinks the Maker is on his side,_ she thought.  _Whatever he knows or doesn’t know, he is a true believer._

Finally the man looked up again, glaring defiantly. “I will tell you nothing, apostate. Andraste suffered through the magisters’ fire, a torture far crueler than this. I defy you, that abomination ‘Healer’ that shares your bed, your court of heretics, and your dog woman thug of a guard! Void take all of you!”

Caitlyn nearly exploded in fury. A small flame escaped from her free hand almost of its own accord, and the sight prompted her to breathe in and out deeply to try to control her anger. “You’ll talk if I  _want_ you to talk,” she snarled. “You wouldn’t be the first despicable criminal I forced to talk! The ‘Butcher of Lowtown’ told me what I wanted to know when I  _made_ him.”

Aveline gave Caitlyn a surprised sideways glance, and the assassin sneered again. “What does that mean, blood magic? I have nothing to tell you. Mettin is a great man, but he only inspired me. I did it myself.”

_I said I would never do this again,_ Caitlyn thought rapidly. The memory of Merrill bleeding profusely from her blood hemorrhage spell filled her mind.  _A rage demon almost got me, too. I promised Anders I wouldn’t do this, and he has already made the point in recent months about how I don’t keep certain promises to him about endangering myself, like the promises that I wouldn’t be rash with the Arishok or reckless with the High Dragon. I promised him, and I promised myself._

_But if I don’t... what if he really does refuse to talk? What if he knows a lot and I never learn it because I didn’t do the spell that I know can control the mind? Torture doesn’t work; people confess to whatever they think the torturer wants to hear... or they’re fanatics like this one and still keep their silence. It doesn’t work. But I do know how to force information out of someone’s mind...._

“Haw—Your Grace?” Aveline corrected herself, staring at Caitlyn.

She realized that she had been thinking for several seconds and turned to her friend. “We’ll talk alone,” she said, pulling Aveline away from the cell block and into a private office in the jail as the prisoner continued to sneer.

“Have you had any luck finding his associates?” she finally managed once they were behind a closed door.

“There were two in Darktown that people said had been part of Mettin’s group,” Aveline said. “They recognized that filth as another of their ‘flock’ but swore, separately, that they had no idea what he was planning.”

Caitlyn scowled. “I’ve had enough of the lot of them. Every one that the guards find, I want brought in and questioned. This assassin is a zealot and I really think the only way I can get information from him is... something I don’t want to do,” she admitted as Aveline’s eyebrows flew up at the confirmation that it was blood magic. “That does not change his sentence. He said he would suffer the full penalty, so he damn well will. I’m going to make an example of him for the rest of them, to see if  _that_ persuades someone to be forthright!”

* * *

Anders took it surprisingly well late that night when she returned to the family quarters and told him what she was going to do.

“That’s exactly what he deserves,” he seethed. “Even if he wasn’t lying and really did act alone, it is justice. And it isn’t magic at all. This is what the law of Kirkwall says. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“That’s how I see it. I’ve had enough of these people. They need to be taught a lesson that any further attacks will be dealt with harshly.”

“Mal could barely let me go tonight when I finished reading to him,” Anders said quietly. “He was afraid that something would happen to me in the night—or you. Or _himself._ I told him that the inner Keep was heavily guarded and the family quarters had our magical wards on the doors, and that what happened in the clinic would not happen again because the guards would search people coming in now, but he’s very upset about the fact that this happened inside the walls of the Keep.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes and held him. “Did he need to see me?”

“I think I was able to reassure him. I was the one he wanted to see, because I was the one sleeping for so long. And he saw the dagger strike me.”

“I know that this isn’t what is most important right now, but did he see when Justice took you over?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see how he couldn’t have, but he has seen it before, and he must still accept what I told him once, that it’s ‘advanced magic’ that he’ll learn about someday. Which he will. I won’t keep it from him forever.”

Caitlyn nodded, trying to accept the events of the day and put them behind her. It was impossible to do so fully just yet; the assassin had to be executed and any other conspirators had to be found. _And there were people whose lives will never be the same,_ she thought with a surge of guilt as she realized she had been thinking mostly about her own family. _They came into a healing clinic to receive care, and they left with permanent maiming. What will become of Ella now? I can’t imagine that she would want to return to the clinic after what happened, even when a rolling chair is made for her. But if she doesn’t come to the clinic, she’ll have to go back to the Circle. What a hideous choice._

 _We can’t let this stop what we are doing,_ she decided. _We can’t give in to fear and let the zealots win. That’s what that man wanted to achieve. He wanted to kill me, to hurt everyone in that clinic, and to shut it and any others that might open in the future. I will not let that happen._

She nestled into Anders’ tight embrace and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

“I want to see it,” Mal said resolutely the next afternoon. His jaw was set and his visage was shockingly hard for a seven-year-old.

“Mal,” Caitlyn tried to explain, “this is going to be very bloody and disturbing to watch. It might make some people sick up or pass out.”

“I have seen blood before,” the child insisted. “I have seen it in Father’s clinics. And I saw a lot of wounded people yesterday.”

“You saw blood in the clinics because I _healed_ people of their injuries... or I needed to take a blood sample from them to know how best to treat them. This will be killing someone. I wish you hadn’t seen the attack, and this is no place for a child,” Anders said. “Your grandmother isn’t going either. Don’t you want to stay with her and your great-uncle and cousin?”

“No,” he said. “He almost _killed_ you, and tried to kill Mother—and all of us—and I want to see him _die_ for it.” Mal scowled momentarily, and his voice became a husky whisper. “Every time I close my eyes, I see that flash of light. I hear the people screaming as Mother pushes me to the ground to protect me and I worry about her. I see the knife sink into your shoulder....”

Anders and Caitlyn exchanged miserable glances. Their child’s innocence was gone because of all of this. It was another casualty. Her voice extremely pained, Caitlyn said, “All right. I won’t make you stay home if you really want to watch this. But if you change your mind once it begins, don’t look. Bury your face in my skirt or your father’s coat. I won’t let _anyone_ judge you for it.”

* * *

_The next day._

Caitlyn, Anders, and their friends stared ahead with angry, resolute faces as the executioner cut the rope of the noose, sending the assassin to his feet in a crumpled heap. He was twitching and retching, and several people in the gathered crowd had already opted to leave. Hangings were usually quick, but this was prolonged, and it was too much for some of them.

Caitlyn glanced quickly at Mal, who was visibly shaken but still able to look. “It’s about to get ugly,” she warned him in a low voice. “Remember what I said.” He took a deep breath, nodded, and moved closer to his parents, holding his mother’s skirt with a single small fist.

The executioner dragged the malefactor to a table that had been assembled and drew a sharp knife. Numerous screams filled the air as he cut through the robes of the condemned and his flesh, lifting out entrails. Caitlyn glanced down at once; she had certainly spilled organs herself as a vigilante with some of the more violent spells she knew, and she had seen it done by her blade-wielding brother and friends, but it was always nasty to watch. Mal gaped for a moment, visibly paling, before turning aside and closing his eyes.

_Thunk!_ The blade cleaved through the assassin’s neck at last. Two more hacks followed it. Caitlyn grimaced as Mal buried his face in the dark leather of Anders’ coat. Anders held him tightly as the child trembled.

She wished she could comfort him too, but yet again, her political duties took her from her family. Unhappily she turned to Aveline and Petrice and stepped forward, nodding, as the executioner held the head high. “Thus we punish high treason in Kirkwall!” she exclaimed, trying to make herself look fierce and firm. Her gaze scanned the crowd. “Furthermore, the healing clinics will continue to operate! The vile, traitorous attack on Healers, sick patients, and the leaders of this city shall fail to achieve its purpose!”

“The Maker and His Bride curse those who profane and blaspheme them by doing evil in their names,” Petrice intoned darkly. “Rather than following in the steps of the Prophet as holy martyrs, these blasphemers prowl the Void.”

With that, Caitlyn nodded her dismissal, and the crowd began to disperse.

* * *

“Are you all right?” Caitlyn asked Mal once they were back home. She had been very concerned about him and had regretted allowing him to witness this.

The boy nodded, though he was still pale and twitchy. “I wish I hadn’t come,” he admitted, “but I’m all right. I didn’t see all of it.”

“I’m so, so sorry that you’re exposed to any of this,” she said, holding his shoulders as she knelt, her voice suddenly cracking. “I—your father and I—wanted so much to live a peaceful, quiet life... but we just can’t, because we have to try to make things better for families like ours.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “It’s not your fault. I don’t mean that. I just wish... I wish you hadn’t seen so much violence and ugliness and _loss._ I wish we could all have stayed together in Ferelden from the very first. _All_ of us. I’m so sorry.” As she held him, she felt a pair of arms envelop them both, and she realized that Anders had knelt behind them. She arched her back slightly to lean into him while pulling Mal closer.

“It’s all right, Mother,” Mal said, allowing her hug. “I understand.”

“I wish you didn’t _have_ to understand,” she whispered, “but... since you do have to, I am glad that you do.”

* * *

“The guards have found another of Mettin’s,” Aveline reported later. “He also insists that nobody knew what that man was planning.” She sighed. “Either they all conspired together in advance, or he really did act alone.”

“I don’t much care anymore,” Caitlyn said. “Even if he did, he was inspired by what Mettin said, and he lurked about with those same people, reinforced in his beliefs.” She seethed. “These people are just foot soldiers. Whatever they think about mages, they would not be radicalized if not for him. He is a former Templar and a ‘victim’ in their eyes for being sacked. He is the one we want to arrest. If that gory execution doesn’t dissuade any of these people, then I think it’s time to enforce the law against sedition. Dumar ignored it.”

Aveline nodded curtly. Caitlyn hesitated, sighing, aware that her friend did not entirely approve, and the fact was that she too was conflicted about all of this. Although she got a certain enjoyment from using her power, and increasingly believed that it was necessary to subdue what looked very much like a brewing rebellion, she also knew that if she had not succeeded at making herself Viscountess, Meredith Stannard would have been the one to enforce sedition law, and _she_ would have been using it against mage sympathizers. It gave Caitlyn pause. _Should I really use a power that I would not want my enemies to use?_ she thought. _Even if I do think it’s necessary? And for that matter, why do I think it’s necessary? These people think I am an illegitimate ruler and disregard my laws, so I’m trying to make them obey out of fear. I’m literally trying to rule by fear. Is this truly a good thing? Right now it doesn’t involve magic, but might it someday? I was tempted to use blood magic again. I chastised Anders for harming the cause by making mages look bad. I told him that we are held to a different, higher standard. Yet what am I doing, and what am I tempted to do?_

Her thoughts provided no reassurance.

* * *

“Your Grace,” said Varric the next day, “you need to see something.”

Caitlyn looked up, frustrated at having had yet another moment with her family interrupted. Anders and Mal were in the clinic again, determinedly at work, now that the guards were searching all the patients who were not dying before their eyes, and a pair of mages from the “Arcane Guard” were helping by scanning them for poisons. She had been watching, a proud smile on her face, as they moved around, defying the barbaric attack—and now she had to leave yet again.

Turning to Varric and trying to hide her frustration, she asked, “What’s the problem? And where?”

Varric moved closer and spoke in a low voice so that no one else could hear. “It’s in that small house in Hightown that assorted criminal guilds and gangs have used. You cleaned it out a couple of times yourself.”

“That house again?” Caitlyn said, picking up her staff. “I do know the one.” _I also used that house to meet with Leliana for the first time in years two years ago,_ she thought. “What’s there?”

Varric lowered his voice even more. “There’s been a nasty murder, but it is not random. It’s a message.”

“I assume that means it is about mage rights, then.”

“You... could put it that way, I suppose.”

Her curiosity was piqued, but she was also alarmed. Varric sounded very cagey and dire. “A murder that’s a message about mage rights. Who is it this time? I hope not one of my friends or allies.”

“I don’t think so. It’s... something else. You just need to come and see.”

“Why am I hearing about this from you instead of Aveline? No offense.”

“Because she’d immediately involve the whole bloody Guard and I’m not sure that’s what _you_ will want, once you see it,” he said. “I was there, looking into a rumor that the Carta was interested in the place, but I think that was just a tale that would get me to go inside to see... what is there. They wanted _me_ to see it, not her, and that means they wanted you to see it for yourself.”

Caitlyn was about to ask who were Varric’s “they,” but she realized that she would not get an answer until she went along. Nodding curtly, she gathered a cloak and headed out, not noticing that Anders was watching her departure.

Cloaked and hooded to conceal her identity, she walked beside Varric to the house. He took out a set of keys and unlocked it. “I put this padlock on as soon as I saw it,” he said. “Don’t want anyone else seeing it before you.” He glanced uneasily at her as they went inside. Even though it was daytime, the house was still dim, and dust motes gleamed in the beams of light that passed through the windows. “Brace yourself. This is nasty.”

“I’ve seen nasty killings before,” Caitlyn said. “I ordered and oversaw one the other day.”

Varric chuckled darkly as he opened an inside door. Caitlyn gasped at the sight before them.

In the very room that she had met with Leliana two years ago, two bodies dangled from a dusty chandelier, attached by nooses, bloody slices across their entire bodies that cut all the way through skin and muscle. Caitlyn felt queasy at the sight of their guts trying to spill out through the awful gaps; she remembered how horrible it had been to see the assassin disemboweled. Blood had pooled below the bodies, spreading out several feet. It soaked through the wooden floor so heavily that the wood was warped from it, and both corpses still dripped blood. They were naked, revealing that they had been a male and a female, but their faces were concealed—by Templar helmets.

Caitlyn stumbled back toward the door, which swung shut again. She collapsed against it, staring in horror and disgust at the mutilated bodies. “What kind of sick bastard would do this?” she exclaimed.

“Read that,” Varric said, pointing to an open note on a dusty table that Caitlyn had not noticed. “I won’t try to influence your opinion before you do.”

Glowering, furious, and shaking, Caitlyn stepped over to read the note.

 

_We are on your side, but we are frustrated. You were almost killed by a common lout, not even a Templar, and he is the only one who has seen justice for it. Not the liar who incited him, not the lunatic bitch who serves as Knight-Commander. They used him and discarded him when he failed. An innocent young mage lost her legs for nothing, and if you cannot eliminate those who made it possible, we will take action ourselves and will not rest until every Templar in Thedas is flayed like these. For every one of us that they maim, we will kill two of them. For every one they kill, we will kill three._

 

Caitlyn breathed heavily, trying to collect her thoughts and subdue her fury.  _This is the Front for Resolution that Aveline told me about,_ she thought.  _That, or the Resolutionists themselves. They did this. They must have._

_I do not want to announce this to the public. Meredith will use it against me, even though I had nothing to do with it. She will use it to foment hate and fear of mages. And yet, I cannot just let it go. It’s wrong, and besides, someone knows who did it. They know who did it and they must know that I will learn about it, if they did draw Varric to this place. They can blackmail me if I don’t do anything about it. Can Aveline be trusted to conduct a private investigation of this? Is it even possible? And how in the Maker’s name can I keep this a secret from Meredith? She’ll notice that these Templars are missing._

Taking a deep breath, she decided on her course. “This is despicable,” she seethed, “and it will not stand. Not in my name. I’m going to tell Aveline about this—but she will have to investigate it _privately._ I do not want the city to know about it. I don’t know how to keep it from the Knight-Commander, though. Do you have any ideas?”

Varric thought hard. “Templars _do_ turn up dead in alleys,” he said. “This is a lot nastier than a typical gang knifing, though. Obviously.”

“Gangs typically don’t mutilate their victims, no.” She sighed. “Aveline isn’t going to like anything about keeping this secret.”

* * *

Caitlyn, Varric, Anders, Aveline, and—at Caitlyn’s suggestion—Ser Thrask were gathered in a private chamber in the inner Keep to discuss the murders and what to do. In Aveline’s opinion, the path forward was clear, and she was appalled at the talk of any sort of cover-up.

“You know,” she said, her words dripping with sarcasm, “you _could_ just tell Meredith what happened. She might be pleasantly surprised and be willing to work with you more if you do.”

Caitlyn and Varric forbore from rolling their eyes. Anders was not so magnanimous. “And the Maker _might_ come to Thedas in the body of a nug,” he scoffed.

_“Anders!”_ Aveline exclaimed with an alarmed glance at Thrask. “Do you have  _any_ sense—”

The Templar shrugged. “I thought it was funny. I’ve heard far worse.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Justice must be done, but I do understand why the Viscountess doesn’t want the Knight-Commander to know how, specifically, they died. Perhaps if she were less paranoid, less fanatical, she might react as you hope, Guard-Captain... but sadly I have to agree with Hawke. It is possible to bring a murderer to justice without telling all and sundry about the crime.” He gazed ahead blankly. “These particular Templars were innocent. They were not cronies of Meredith. I never saw them being cruel to mages, even by my standards. I was not close to them, but I had spoken to them a few times, and they seemed to agree with my views. I wonder if these ‘Resolutionists’ knew that... or cared. They were targeted because of the armor and insignia they wore, nothing more.”

“Who were they?” Caitlyn asked gently.

“Their names were Eustas and Delia,” he said, finding some strength in naming them, giving them back their identities. “This upsets me, Your Grace. I’m sorry.”

She gazed sadly at him. “I wish it hadn’t happened, and I do  _not_ condone it. I don’t see it just as a political problem to solve. I really don’t. They didn’t deserve this, and I want to see justice done for it.”

Thrask nodded. “I know. I’m not considering changing sides, Your Grace; don’t worry about that. I know you don’t approve of this.”

“Did they have families?”

He shook his head. “They were Blight orphans who arrived with nothing.”

Caitlyn blanched. “Oh, Maker,” she said, clutching her forehead. “Well... it sounds as if you might be the closest thing to next of kin that they have. If you don’t mind overseeing their pyres... and don’t mind having their funerals well outside the city... obviously, we need to treat their bodies with respect. Would you mind...?”

“Not at all.”

Aveline rose. “If we have decided that the Knight-Commander will not be told, then I had best get to work investigating this crime.”

“You may tell Donnic and two or three other guards that you trust to be quiet about it,” said Caitlyn. “This cannot get out yet, Aveline.”

Aveline nodded. “I respect your decision even if I don’t agree with it, and I won’t endanger you by telling people I can’t trust to be discreet. Oh—speaking of Donnic. I thought I should tell you... though this isn’t the best time, right after a gory murder.” For a moment, she looked sheepish at her own awkward timing.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows questioningly. She thought she knew what was coming....

“We’re getting married.”

Caitlyn smiled. “That’s great! Congratulations. You don’t need me to say this, since you were married before, but it’s wonderful to have a loving spouse.” Anders smiled at her and took her hand affectionately as she returned the smile. “A bit of good news in these dark days.”

* * *

“Your Grace! There’s a young woman here demanding an audience with you. She says that you helped her out of a scrape in 9:31.”

Caitlyn looked up from her desk at Donnic Hendyr. “Did she give a name or a message?” A wry smile crossed her face. “I helped a lot of people out of scrapes that year.”

“She says her name is Grace and that she would like to speak with you about the Knight-Commander.” He lowered his voice. “She was dressed like a mage. Her tunic looked awfully like an altered mage’s robe.”

The name had jogged Caitlyn’s memory. “Grace? I did help a mage by that name that year. She came from Starkhaven after the Circle there burned. Karras wanted to kill all of the mages who survived that. If this is the same person, I will see her.” She rose from her desk and picked up her staff when something occurred to her. “Oh,” she said in an undertone, “if this is who it is, don’t speak of it to anyone other than Anders, Aveline, Varric, or Merrill. I am not in the business of handing over apostates to Meredith Stannard.”

“Of course,” Donnic assured her.

When Caitlyn reached the small chamber in the outer Keep where the visitor was waiting, she quickly identified Grace. She would not necessarily have remembered the woman if she had encountered her on the street, but since Donnic had given her Grace’s name and a small bit of back story, she had no trouble confirming Grace’s identity from her memories.

“Grace,” Caitlyn acknowledged, “I understand that you have requested an audience with me to talk about the Knight-Commander.”

The Starkhaven mage looked impatient. “Yes,” she barked, glowering at her own shoes. “I don’t understand why she is still in power.”

“I do not have the authority to dismiss her. I wish I did.”

“The Grand Cleric does!” Grace exclaimed. “We _all_ thought that she was your ally! She could sack Meredith, and yet, Meredith is still here, still able to hurt mages. She’s still here even after Lord Anders _executed_ those rapist Templars, who committed their crimes on _her_ watch! She’s still here after that lunatic attacked the clinic and almost killed everyone, including you!”

Caitlyn took a deep breath and let it out to relax. “I can’t prove that she knew about either of those things, especially the attack. Unfortunately, the current evidence is that the assassin acted alone. He was riled by Mettin’s lies, but we cannot even prove that Mettin knew about his plan, let alone Meredith. And... before I became Viscountess... don’t you remember? The Grand Cleric _did_ sack Meredith, but the Templars and Seekers in Orlais reinstated her. The only person who can overrule them is Divine Justinia, and she didn’t intervene. _That_ is why Meredith is still here.” In this moment, it felt good to Caitlyn to unload on Divine Justinia, with whom she was not particularly happy, even though she knew that this Divine supported most of her goals for mage rights.

Grace forbore from scowling directly at Caitlyn. “She sent the Knight-Vigilant to the Templar madhouse. Why can’t Petrice sack Meredith again now that he is gone? Will the Divine herself overrule her?”

“The Lady Seeker also supported Meredith’s appeal, and she is still seated.” When anger and frustration filled Grace’s face, Caitlyn said hurriedly, “I am of the same mind you are, Grace, but the unfortunate truth is that we’re powerless to remove Meredith as long as there are people high in the Chantry who back her and have the power to keep her—unless Justinia overrules them after all.”

Grace did scowl this time. “Then perhaps we should send someone to Val Royeaux to demand audience with _her.”_

_“We?”_ Caitlyn thought suddenly—and then she realized that this was not the first time in the conversation that Grace had said it. A suspicion instantly filled her mind, and she did not wait to voice it.

“We?” she repeated, eyeing the Starkhaven mage. “Who’s ‘we,’ Grace?”

Grace fell silent, staring at her feet. “My... friends....”

“Your friends. Are they, perchance, the Front for Resolution?”

Grace’s expression turned mulish. “I know about those two dead Templars, if that’s why you are asking, Viscountess,” she said. “I’ve taken care of it.”

“So they are, then. Are you the leader of this group?”

“Yes,” Grace said sullenly. “Only the Kirkwall group. I don’t conspire with those nuts in Tantervale.”

“And yet your ‘friends’ still commit murder. Those two Templars were innocent, and according to a Templar I trust who is a friend of mages and has even helped them escape the Circle, they largely supported and sympathized with mages—with _us_ ,” she said for emphasis. “Your ‘friends’ murdered people who could have _protected_ Circle mages.”

“I’ve taken care of it.”

Caitlyn loomed menacingly over Grace, clutching her staff and glaring hard. “I’m sure the Captain will want to speak to you, and you had better be telling the truth, because if you are not, I’m quite certain that _she_ will ‘take care of it.’ I am the public face of mage rights in southern Thedas. Whatever you do for the cause reflects on me even if I had no advance knowledge of it. We can be allies, and I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt for now, but if anything like this happens again, you’ll wish it hadn’t. If you really didn’t know about this plot, then you had better get control of your ‘friends.’”

* * *

“You know,” Anders said late that night, “I don’t think she did a thing to the killers.”

Caitlyn sighed. “I doubt it too, but there was nothing I could do without evidence. I hope we are both mistaken, but if we aren’t, I hope she _will_ do something to the killers now that I’ve put her on notice. Even if that just means turning them over to Aveline.”

He leaned into his pillow, gazing at the ceiling. “Caitlyn... love... I know that you don’t want to think about this. I don’t like thinking about it either. But the time is approaching when you need to be prepared for war to break out.”

She winced. “Surely it can still be prevented.”

“I hope so too,” he said, “but... it might not be, if enough people decide that violence is the only way.”

“Then at that point, it will _become_ the only way. We’re not there yet.”

He nodded. “I know. I don’t mean to imply that you’re ignoring the possibility, because I know you’re not, but... Kirkwall is so vulnerable. And if Elthina, Sebastian, and those Chantry rebels are egging this on, corresponding with Meredith and Mettin and their ilk, their strategy is to undermine you and fracture the city from the inside rather than declaring war openly.”

She closed her eyes. This was exactly what she feared most was happening, and she didn’t have any ideas for how to fight it except for cracking down hard, as she had begun to do. As nice as it was to think that people could be swayed by reason, she knew that it was not true for many. Some foes could only be fought and defeated. “I am doing all that I can,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly fragile even to herself. “There must be consequences or else they will go ever farther, but at the same time, I don’t want to cause a backlash that’s just as bad. It’s hard.”

He pulled her into his arms and cuddled her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

She nestled into his embrace, trying to push it out of her mind at least for tonight. “I know. But you can make me feel better now.”

His eyes gleamed and he broke into a sideways grin, but that quickly shifted to an expression of tenderness as he began to caress and kiss her.

* * *

_A few days later._

“I’ve got bad news, Hawke,” Varric reported. “I spoke with our friend Thrask this morning and apparently Meredith is going to say something at the Gallows today.”

“She cannot set policy herself anymore,” said Caitlyn.

“He says it’s about the murdered Templars. She’s noticed they’re missing, and in her paranoia, she has decided that you know more than you’re saying.”

Caitlyn laughed bitterly. “I suppose it was inevitable that someday her paranoia would result in a conclusion that, by chance, is _right._ I’ll be there. If she tries anything illegal, I won’t have it.”

Anders beamed with pride. “I’d like to come along,” he said.

“Well, I can hardly keep you from it!” she said with a grin.

“And to bring Mal, if he’d like to come.”

She sighed. “Why not? He has had to grow up far too fast already. Better that he know.”

* * *

Meredith’s voice carried from the steps of the imposing structure as Caitlyn and her family approached. “It pains me to be right about this,” she proclaimed to the assembled Templars and supporters, “but sadly, two of the Maker’s soldiers have disappeared without a trace, and the so-called Arcane Guard have been unable to find them or any information about them. Or if they _have,”_ she added darkly, “they have not chosen to share what they know, nor have the Guard-Captain or the mage Viscountess.”

Caitlyn was prepared for an attack on herself, but she was not prepared for Meredith to slander the mages serving in the guard, and as soon as the words escaped Meredith’s lips, incandescent rage filled Caitlyn. Barely noticing that First Enchanter Orsino stood beside Meredith, she stormed to the front of the crowd, breaking away from Anders and Mal.

“You are out of line!” she roared as the attention of everyone present shifted to her. “It’s tragic, but it is not uncommon in this city for anyone, Templars included, to go missing, due to the enormous amount of crime that occurs daily because of the negligence and corruption of the _former_ leadership,” she concluded in a pointed sneer. “The Guard-Captain has identified numerous guards— _none_ of whom are mages—who were being bribed or blackmailed by criminals. In my early days here, I myself heard of secret deals to grant amnesty to hardened criminals if they accused someone of being a mage. I am not accusing _you_ of being party to such arrangements, of _course,”_ she said with heavy sarcasm as Anders and Mal caught up with her, “but they did occur, and although I am working very hard to clean up this city, it takes time to uproot such thoroughly rooted corruption.”

Meredith’s nostrils flared and her eyes bulged minutely. “You overreach,” she spat. “I am merely making the point that these mages in the guard have been useless in solving a crime. So much for the claimed need for them!”

“That is _not_ all that you said,” Caitlyn retorted, “and furthermore, their role was not to investigate; it was to deal with dangerous criminals directly. I have, in fact, been informed of the disappearance of these two Templars, and my trusted guards are chasing leads right now. If they haven’t questioned you, it must be because they don’t think you have any useful information—no surprise there, given that the Templars were said to be friendly to mages,” she said with false sweetness.

“I should have been informed that such an investigation was taking place.”

“This is a suspected murder case, and that falls under the purview of the guard. As you _well_ know, violations of civil law are for the _civil_ authorities to handle, not your cronies.”

At this allusion to Anders’ ill-fated regency, Meredith looked ready to challenge Caitlyn to a duel right there and damn the consequences. She began to draw her sword. Shocked but prepared, Caitlyn readied her staff.

Orsino quickly stepped forward, trying to dispel the tension. “Your Grace!” he exclaimed. “Knight-Commander! Let’s try to keep calm and not inflame each other. There  _is_ an investigation. The disappearance hasn’t been ignored.”

Meredith glowered at Caitlyn before turning to Orsino with a menacing smile. “The investigation should include Templar expertise. Blood mages might be involved. This is another form of crime that persists here.”

“The guard mages are perfectly competent, but if we need Templar assistance too, we will request it,” Caitlyn said icily.

“Nonetheless, this event, as well as the blast in the clinic, shows that strong action is needed to protect the people of Kirkwall from fanatics.”

“You’re one to talk,” muttered Anders. “The best thing you could do to promote _that_ goal is to resign.” Fortunately his voice was too low for Meredith to hear him.

“I propose sending the Healers back to the Circle,” she said, “and sending the Arcane Guard back as well, for their own safety. The attack was against mages, and it is true that the two missing Templars were... unorthodox,” she said, her lips pursed, practically spitting the word. “I would propose, for the well-being of those who agree with the Viscountess’s and Grand Cleric’s radical views, that the mages who are working outside the Circle return to safety until the lawless fanatics can be apprehended.” She backed away, smirking.

Caitlyn was blindsided for a moment. She had never thought Meredith a particularly intelligent person, especially given her propensity to lash out and the reports from Thrask that she experienced possible lyrium-induced paranoia. Elthina had been the clever and dangerous one, the wolf who passed herself off as a harmless sheep due to her gray hair, priestly robes, affectation of moderation, and soft voice. Caitlyn had forgotten the fact that Meredith had exhibited a certain crude cleverness herself at times. She had come close to seizing power and would have if Caitlyn had not cultivated supporters to back her own bid to rule. In all likelihood, Meredith was blackmailing Orsino with  _something;_ Caitlyn wished very much that she knew what. She had been smart enough to make alliances in the Chantry that had her back, she had a circle of fellow zealots utterly devoted to mutual protection—essentially fighting from behind an impregnable fort—and she had managed to stir up fanatics while maintaining plausible deniability herself. This false claim of being concerned for the safety of the mages was a perfect example of the latter— _and of course, we’ll never be rid of lawless fanatics so long as she and her followers continue to incite them,_ Caitlyn thought in anger.

“The mages aren’t going anywhere unless they, individually, _want_ to,” she said at once, “and every Healer who was in the Keep clinic that day has chosen to continue serving the people. Even the one who lost her legs.” It was true; Ella had been obviously traumatized, but she was placated by the new search protocol for patients. More than that, she would rather assume this risk than return to the Circle. _That speaks for itself,_ Caitlyn thought.

“If only the Grand Cleric were here, we could hold a vote on it.”

“Even if, for Maker knows what reason, the First Enchanter agrees with you,” Caitlyn said with a glare at Orsino, “the Grand Cleric isn’t going to change her mind. She stood beside me at the assassin’s execution when I declared that the clinics would stay open. And they will, so long as there is a single mage who wants to serve there.”

“Which there is,” Anders called out. Beside him, Mal smiled proudly.

Meredith scowled again, and Orsino spoke once more. “In the interest of compromise, and to assist with the investigation of the missing Templars, I will let your people search the quarters of every mage in the Circle,” he offered. Anders gasped in outrage, and Caitlyn thought she saw the light of Justice pass over him briefly. For her part, she tried to keep her own dismay invisible.

“Are you implying that you think some of the Circle mages might be blood mages and have something to do with this?” Anders spoke up, getting Caitlyn’s attention as she realized that he had filled the void of her silence.

Orsino gazed back expressionlessly. “If I suspected that, I would name names. It is a peace offering, a gesture of good faith.”

Anders did not even try to hide his scoff. Caitlyn, sensing that this was about to become a very unpleasant confrontation, intervened. “Then in that case, I hope your _faith_ isn’t misplaced,” she snapped. “And I believe that’s all that needs to be said of this sordid matter.”

* * *

_Late the next evening._

Caitlyn had demanded to be left alone unless a true emergency arose. The past several days had been very taxing for her, and she had wanted time with Mal. As the two of them practiced spells in the warded stone room, Anders stole the moment to sneak away, hoping that if they finished early, he could contrive a plausible excuse and that the guards in the outer Keep would not tell her at once when he left. In truth, he wanted to see Thrask. Covering his head, he crept away from the Keep, slinking in the shadows toward the Hightown house that was so often used for crime. Thrask was waiting for him there.

“I realize this is an imposition,” Anders began, “but I just... think it’s crucial to know whom to trust and who is on Meredith’s side after that display.”

Thrask considered. “So what is it you want from me?”

“A list of names of Templars who are her cronies—or who support her harsh measures or extreme views,” he said. When Thrask’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, Anders reassured him at once, “This is not for retaliation.” _Yet,_ he thought. _If it should become necessary... that might change._ “I would just feel more comfortable knowing how many enemies there are and who they are.”

Thrask gazed ahead into the night sky. He was silent for a while. Finally, fearing that he was not going to accede, Anders spoke again. “What is it?”

The Templar turned around. “Do you remember how we first met? I was helping another Templar ferry mages out of Kirkwall when they were in danger. That Templar is named Raleigh Samson.”

Anders nodded. “We heard something worrisome about him recently, that he was seen in the Mage Underground tunnels all the time.”

“I think he has done a flip,” Thrask said at once even as Anders’ gaze popped and then narrowed in dismay and anger. “I think he would have to be on this... list of names that you want.”

“Why did he turn?” Anders pressed.

Thrask hesitated. “I mean no offense, so please do not take it that way. He grumbled quite a lot about your justice against Alrik and his comrades. Before the Grand Cleric sacked Mettin, I overheard the two of them talking a lot, and Samson said that he was starting to think that Meredith was right.”

Anders was thunderstruck and horrified. “He turned because of me?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Thrask did not answer, gazing sympathetically at Anders instead. “I wonder now.... He helped me ferry mages away, but I wonder how much he knew about Alrik’s depredations very early, far earlier than I ever knew. If he did know and kept it a secret for years, I am ashamed of myself for not seeing, but either he deceived me for years or he has turned completely. Before Petrice dismissed Mettin, the two became very close. This... sounds odd... but I think they shared lyrium.”

“Shared lyrium?” Anders repeated. “What’s the point of that? I thought all Templars were issued lyrium anyway.”

“There is a rumor in the Gallows that Meredith’s favorites receive some type of ‘special’ lyrium potion that we ordinary mortals don’t get. There _was_ a crate delivered to the Gallows by couriers who were not the usual, official, proper dwarven merchants. If it’s an unauthorized mixture that’s more potent than the Templar Order issues, that’s worrisome.”

“I can’t blame lyrium abuse for evil,” Anders said aggressively. “It makes non-mages mad if they use it too heavily. It doesn’t turn them into rapists and slave-traders.”

“It could make people more paranoid,” Thrask argued, “but I agree, I cannot blame Samson’s turn on lyrium, and even if he disagreed strongly with what you did, he did not have to take it this far. Your friends, after all, disagreed, but it didn’t change their views about the broader cause.” He gazed ahead again for a moment. “I will compile this list of names for you and the Viscountess. We don’t want to lose or hurt any more people who are on our side, and this may be the only way to be sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Samson, I do _not_ mean to imply that Anders is responsible for the eventual rise of the Red Templars, because people are responsible for their own choices that are freely made, but Samson did need a different reason to turn in this AU, and that’s a pretty obvious candidate.
> 
> And yes, Meredith is giving red lyrium to her few favorites. Their rations are a mixture of regular and a bit of red, so they can consume it for several years without turning into the things in _DA:I_. This will come out later. I do not like the idea of Meredith as a “victim” of the idol/sword, and here she definitely is not. She noticed the effect and liked it, and so she sought more and knew where to send a private crew, having bought it from the dwarf who led a well-known expedition. I tend to think of Meredith as the first Red Templar even in canon, but I know the argument against that is that she didn’t ever ingest it in the game. There’s no ambiguity about it in this AU.


	19. Heaven Sent a Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always!
> 
> Lyric is from “The Hunter” by Iced Earth ([lyrics here](http://www.darklyrics.com/lyrics/icedearth/thedarksaga.html#4)). The choice is meant to be sarcastic.

Ser Thrask got his list to Anders a week later. Ser Keran delivered it as he was leaving the clinic for the day. With many Healers now serving, a couple of them could work overnight, but Anders did not supervise that shift. He and Mal were walking out the door to greet Caitlyn, who stood nearby with her staff in hand and a smile on her face, when Keran appeared, bearing his letter sealed with the Templars’ Sword of Mercy. Caitlyn’s smile became somewhat forced when she noticed him; she expected the message to be for her—but then the young Templar handed it to Anders instead, looking distinctly awkward about the encounter.

“Your Grace,” he said, making a quick bow to her.

Caitlyn turned to Anders, eyebrows raised. _“You_ have a message from the Templars? And it looks as if you were expecting it, too.”

He was about to explain when another voice interrupted. “Your Grace,” Aveline called out. “We have news.”

Caitlyn turned around. Accompanying Aveline was a tan-skinned man in light armor, carrying a staff—one of the mages in the Arcane Guard. She was pretty sure she knew who he was. “It’s Alain, isn’t it?” she said to the mage. “You’re the one from Starkhaven who went with Thrask that day.”

He nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I joined the Guard because... well... even with the changes that you and the Grand Cleric ordered, the Circle of Kirkwall is a difficult place, with all due respect. I mean no offense.”

“And I take none,” she assured him. She lowered her voice. “We are dissatisfied with those changes too, but reform may have to start small.”

Aveline continued. “Enchanter Alain and I met with the leaders of the so-called Front for Resolution. We did not speak with Grace, most likely because she knows Alain,” she said with a snarl, “but the group also has non-mages in its ranks, which is why they say that they are not  _really_ part of the Resolutionists proper—a mage fraternity. They presented us with a mage who they claimed was responsible for the deaths of the innocent Templars.”

“I know— _knew—_ that one too,” Alain said darkly, “and I believe that he was fully capable of it. I suspected that he followed Decimus, our old leader, in blood magic, though I could never prove that.”

“He didn’t use blood magic against you, then?” Caitlyn said.

“No,” said Aveline. “He put up a fight, but he didn’t do that, and he is dead now. I hope that this is the end of it and Grace did not just scapegoat him.”

Caitlyn considered what she had just heard. “Keep an eye on them,” she finally said, “but don’t let them know it.”

Anders placed one hand on Mal’s shoulder and grinned smugly. “If I may say so, I’m pleased that a mage in the Arcane Guard helped to apprehend this killer. Meredith won’t like that at all.”

“I don’t think _that’s_ the most important thing,” Aveline said. Anders shrugged, grinning.

As Aveline and Alain left for the guard quarters, Caitlyn walked toward the doors to the inner Keep with Anders and Mal. “Was your letter about this news, then?” she asked Anders.

He shook his head. “I doubt it. I... uh... asked Thrask for something.”

Caitlyn’s curiosity was piqued now. A guard unbarred the door to the inner Keep, and she ushered the others inside. She smiled at the sound of mabari barks, and in the next moment, the dog bounded into the hall to greet them, Pounce following behind with silent patters.

Anders got to his knees to pet the cat as Caitlyn and Mal hugged the dog. “Down!” Mal exclaimed as Baldwin tried to lick his face. “Sit!”

Anders strapped his staff to his back and scooped up the cat, adjusting Keran’s letter to the bend of his right elbow. Caitlyn chuckled and waved her hand, making a glowing geometrical heptagram, a magical ward on the door to the family sitting room, vanish. As they all shuffled inside, human and animal, she closed the door and put the spell back up.

Anders sat down and finally popped the seal on his letter. “I asked Thrask for a list of names of Templars who were with Meredith—those who were personally loyal to her as well as those who supported her harsh approaches.”

Caitlyn sat beside him, a frown crossing her face. “For what purpose?”

“For our own information... for now,” he said quietly. “It occurred to me that it’s important to know whom we can’t trust, who the enemy is—and what kind of numbers we face in the Gallows.” He read Thrask’s brief note. “Oh, Maker bless him. He actually designated whether each one is a crony or a supporter of her policies—or both. That’s why it took a week.”

“You asked for this a week ago?” she said. “Were you going to tell me?”

He set down the letter and list, aware that she was hurt. “I was, as soon as it arrived,” he assured her. “I’m not going to do anything with it without consulting you.”

“But you didn’t tell me when you asked him for it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure if he would even agree, and if he didn’t want to, I didn’t want him to think that he _had_ to because you were also demanding it. When he did agree, I assumed he would write it and send it the next day, and that I would share it with you then. I didn’t realize it would mean keeping a secret from you for a week.”

She considered that, nodding in forgiveness. “Let’s see the list, then.”

He unfolded the second parchment. They both took in their breaths sharply at the size of the ink-stained area, where Thrask’s scratchy writing listed a name and an explanation of why that name was on the list. Caitlyn made a quick estimate and then groaned, closing her eyes briefly. “There are at least thirty names,” she said in dismay.

Anders was scanning the list as well. “A majority of them are labeled ‘supports policies’ only, not ‘personal loyalist,’” he said, “and... wow, I need to reward Thrask for this. He even specified whether a Templar supports many, most, or all of her policies. The ones who support ‘many’ of them might yet be persuadable, and more events like Alain helping apprehend mage criminals could help. But, on the other hand....” He sighed and scowled, pointing at one specific name on the parchment.

Caitlyn opened her eyes and looked at where his finger was stabbing. Immediately next to his fingertip was written,  _Cullen Rutherford, Knight-Captain. Supports most policies._

She met Anders’ gaze and sighed in disappointment. “I had hopes when he stood up to Trentwatch and talked to Leliana.”

“He did the right thing once. That doesn’t make him a friend to our cause.”

She closed her eyes again and rubbed them. “I guess it doesn’t.”

“Are you finished reading the letter?” Mal spoke up from the divan on which he was seated, Baldwin’s head lying on his lap as the dog sprawled across the piece of furniture. “Because I have a question about something that a Healer did today, and it has to do with something you taught me, Father, so I didn’t want to ask until we were alone.” He scowled briefly. “I wish I could let other people know that I can do magic too.”

“Someday,” Caitlyn told him, though it seemed to her that she was lying to all of them now when she said it. Nothing was changing anymore. Meredith had somehow gotten Orsino to side with her, blocking any additional reforms to the Circle. She had a network of allies and her agent in Kirkwall, Mettin, had a violent, radical mob of supporters. And according to this letter, she had the majority of Kirkwall Templars on her side in one way or another.

“We are finished with the letter,” Anders said, glancing quickly at Caitlyn and raising his eyebrows in alarm at her dour expression. “Ask away, son.”

* * *

Meredith was visibly disgruntled when she was told that Alain, a mage, had brought the Templars’ murderer to justice. She had nothing to say other than a gruff statement of grudging approval that the killer was dead, stomping toward the Gallows in irritation after the brief audience with Caitlyn and Aveline. The Grand Cleric had not been present at all; a brother in the Chantry had explained that she was busy with “matters of the faith” when Caitlyn’s messenger asked if she would like to be present to inform Meredith. Caitlyn was suspicious at first, because Petrice had become very sensitive to Meredith’s attempts to usurp her authority and rarely avoided an opportunity to poke a finger in Meredith’s eye, but after a moment’s consideration, she decided that this was not likely to be one of the more exciting occasions—and as it had turned out, she was right.

After she returned to the Keep, Anders was less sanguine. “I was thinking about the Grand Cleric’s lack of interest in exulting over Meredith today, and I remembered the confrontation at the Gallows a week ago. I’m curious now why Petrice didn’t know that was planned.”

“She isn’t our enemy,” Caitlyn chided gently. “She has fought Meredith on every occasion.”

“But with what motive? I can accept that she agrees with _some_ of what we believe about mages, and that’s why she doesn’t mind making mild reforms, but what she really likes is power. That, and promoting her religion—her _version_ of her religion. When Meredith undermines her power, she’ll fight back, and it happens to help us and the cause, but will she defend you in _all_ things?”

Caitlyn gazed ahead. It was true that Petrice had not been very active in matters concerning Caitlyn’s own sphere lately, other than the execution of the would-be assassin, and now today someone had said that she was busy with something. What was she up to instead? _I shouldn’t need to rely on her,_ she thought at once, banishing the idea rather than exploring it. _If I have to look to a priest to back everything I do, that is weak and people will see who really runs Kirkwall. Viscount Dumar was weak in this way, but I will not be. I don’t need to lean too heavily on her._

“I’m not going to rely on her to defend me in everything,” she finally replied to Anders. “I need to be able to defend myself rather than hiding behind a priest’s robes. I went to the Gallows last week to handle Meredith myself rather than allowing her to spread her venom unchecked. As a mage who lived my whole life as an apostate, I must have support from a high priest, but ultimately, Meredith’s fight about the Circle is with us.”

“That’s true,” said Anders, “but it doesn’t explain what Petrice is up to.”

“She is the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, and unlike Elthina, she actually takes some interest in the city—even if her motive is to keep the people of Lowtown and Darktown with her. She has said that the rampant poverty and hunger are disgraceful. It’s been less than a year. We’re still used to a Grand Cleric who is good for nothing except counseling a prince, letting Meredith do whatever in the Void she pleases, and plotting treason to usurp more power.”

Anders considered that, finally nodding.

* * *

Although Meredith had been insistent that the City Guard would need Templar support to help “solve” the case of the “missing” Templars, she never had made that same offer to Caitlyn regarding the rest of Mettin’s violent mob or Mettin himself. Caitlyn certainly would not have accepted it, because she knew that if Meredith had made that request, it would have been for a nefarious purpose—most likely to thwart arrests, perhaps also to spy on the Guard and on Caitlyn’s strongest allies therein. Nonetheless, she deeply resented the fact that Meredith had not even mentioned it. _It is because she wishes the attack had been more successful,_ she thought bitterly a week after Aveline and Alain had reported to her. _It was quite bad enough, but the assassin’s goal was to kill everyone there, perhaps especially Anders—until the moment that he saw me. I presented an even better target to him. He wanted me dead, and Meredith wishes that his attack had succeeded at that._

That same day, word reached Kirkwall that Mettin and several of his followers had left town. It was only a rumor, but the Guard had been unable to find any of them, even after aggressively questioning people in Darktown. All that those people had to say was that there had been a group in a certain hideaway, and that various people had come and gone from it, but no one had ever managed to catch all of them at once. Furthermore, no one in Darktown had consistently seen anyone matching the dead assassin’s description. He might have been in and out, they said, but lots of people were in and out. No one with harmless intent, none of the desperately poor, wanted to risk watching strangers too terribly closely in Darktown. An examination of the hideaway itself turned up nothing, not even supplies that could have been used for bomb-making. If Mettin and his gang had been there, they were there no longer.

“If they really have left town for fear of mass arrests, then good riddance... I suppose,” Caitlyn said when Aveline reported this to her. “I did intend that execution to be a deterrent. I just hoped that we could catch Mettin. I’m afraid that he has merely led them somewhere else to plot, or worst of all, to one of our northern adversaries.”

Anders, who had been present, spoke up. “If they did flee, they might have wanted to avoid the main roads for fear of being spotted. Perhaps the Dalish could tell you if they were seen anywhere, if they tried to leave via the trails on the Sundermount.”

“It’s a thought,” Caitlyn acknowledged. “That’s only one possibility, and they must know that the Dalish are supposed to protect the Sundermount from criminals, since the treaty was so controversial, but it’s possible.”

“If they made themselves look like travelers and said they were only passing through, the Dalish should have left them alone,” he pointed out.

“That’s true. All right. I’ll ask.”

* * *

Aveline disagreed with Caitlyn’s decision to go to the Sundermount herself; she felt that as a head of state, Caitlyn should summon her subjects to her. Caitlyn saw it differently. Although Marethari saw that Caitlyn supported them and therefore might recognize the necessity of accepting her clan as subjects of Kirkwall, many of the elves profoundly disliked all humans and saw themselves as an independent, if small, nation-state. It wasn’t worth offending the clan and perhaps even putting Marethari in a bad position with her people by imperiously summoning the Keeper to the city. Several guards accompanied Caitlyn and Merrill—who wanted to go along—but they remained with the Dalish sentry guarding the camp.

“I advise you to make your business brief,” the elf told them in frosty tones. “There is trouble afoot and my people will not be pleased to see you right now.”

“What kind of trouble?” Caitlyn asked.

The sentry glowered. “Trouble from your Chantry.”

“Is it a group of fanatics led by a former Templar?” she said, her heart pounding. Could they possibly be so lucky? “They aren’t with the Chantry. They are fugitive outlaws.”

 _“We_ consider them fanatics, and there are Templars with them,” said the elf, who was practically spitting out the words now, “but I assure you, these are most definitely with your Chantry. See for yourself.” He held his spear aside so that she and Merrill could continue up the road and enter the camp.

Caitlyn had realized what was going on as soon as the sentry explained. Her deal with the Sabrae clan, the treaty between Marethari and Petrice, had apparently faltered—as she had feared. Was _this_ what Petrice had been up to lately? She felt ill at the thought. As she approached the camp, she stole a glance at Merrill, whose face was rapidly becoming mutinous.

“If Petrice’s people have violated the terms of the deal, I’ll make sure they are sanctioned,” she said quietly. Merrill did not respond. Her jaw became set as they entered the camp.

Caitlyn glanced around, the sinking feeling increasing as she took in her surroundings. The Dalish artisan, from whom she had purchased goods before, was guarding his handicraft possessively, staring blackly at the back of a Templar who was stalking away from the table. At least the Templar was not carrying anything, so he had not confiscated anything from the elves, but clearly there had been something that he had not liked to see. A magical good? Caitlyn intended to find out, but before she approached the craftsman, her attention was diverted by the sight of a group of young hunters arguing heatedly with a knot of Chantry folk in full regalia, guarded by another Templar.

This latter confrontation looked to potentially become violent. All the hunters were armed, as was the Templar. Caitlyn made her decision and walked quickly to this group.

“What’s going on here?” Caitlyn cut in, interrupting an increasingly aggressive argument about the existence of beings called Mythal and Elgar’nan.

A hunter spoke first, sneering. “Did the shemlen priest send you to do her dirty work? Have you come to threaten us with your city’s swords now?”

“No one ‘sent’ me!” Caitlyn protested, taken aback. “I am the Viscountess of Kirkwall, and nobody ‘sends’ me anywhere. I came here of my own accord to ask your Keeper about something else entirely! I didn’t even know that this was happening.” She turned to another hunter. “Have these people broken the terms of the deal? What has been going on?”

“What is the point of violating a terrible deal?” retorted the second hunter. “It was loose enough that they did not have to violate anything! That Templar bothered us about our statues of the Creators that we set up to honor them. He and these women say prayers of protection whenever they see them, completely disrespectful to us. His ‘friend’ has even bothered Master Ilen about his figurines of the Creators. That is why he is walking away from his table right now,” he said with a glower at the Templar that Caitlyn had noticed leaving the craftsman’s table. “These shemlen have been here for two weeks—”

_Two weeks! It has been two weeks since I had the confrontation with Meredith at the Gallows that Petrice wasn’t present for!_ Caitlyn realized.

“—and they have left the boundaries of our camp when we tell them to, but they set up _their_ camp just outside and venture back inside whenever they please!” He pointed into a copse of trees. Caitlyn scanned it; a red and gold Chantry banner waved from a flagpole next to a tent.

Groaning inwardly, she turned to the Chantry priest who appeared to be in charge. “What’s your account of this?” she said, trying not to be overly hostile with them either until she had accounts from both sides.

“We have done more than the treaty obligates,” she said, her voice icy too. “The terms only stated that we would not interrupt their pagan rituals or enter their landships. We have also agreed to leave their camp boundaries when they demand, and they always demand it extremely rudely. We have set up camp nearby, as you can see, Your Grace—”

“So that you’ll see if we try to leave!” snapped the first hunter.

“We have respected your boundaries,” said the priest. “We have even respected the fact that your leader, your ‘Keeper,’ is a mage, though that came as a surprise to us. We did not realize that Her Grace the Grand Cleric had dealt with another mage.”

“The Keeper of a Dalish clan is always a mage,” Caitlyn said. “And I will interject now to say that no one will do anything to Keeper Marethari. She is an old lady, as you have obviously seen. She has not caused any harm from living her life outside a Circle, any more than I have from living outside the Circles.” _Probably less,_ she thought. “No one will apprehend her.”

“And no one has,” continued the priest, “even though the treaty also said nothing about taking a hands-off approach to Dalish mages. She also has a young man with her, an elf mage, whom she says she is training as her ‘First.’”

Merrill let out a wretched cry at this. The hunters sneered in contempt at her. “You had your chance,” one of them said. “You betrayed her teachings.”

“Are _you—”_ began the priest.

Caitlyn interrupted at once, not wanting any further discussion of Merrill’s magic or, especially, _why_ she had left her clan. Let them think that she had “betrayed” Marethari by converting from the Dalish religion. “Merrill is a trained mage,” Caitlyn said, holding her staff at a diagonal in front of Merrill in a protective gesture, “and she is under my protection.”

“Very well. We are not here to arrest mages. The Templars are here to protect us with their swords. My point is, they have not interfered with this male elven mage either, even though they think he escaped from Kirkwall’s Circle. We have done _more_ than the treaty requires, Viscountess Hawke. We have shed no blood and have only spoken peacefully to these elves of the Maker and Andraste. They have been inveterate in their hostility to us.”

“Your prophet Andraste was a friend of elves,” a hunter said, “for political purposes. She needed elvhen weapons and elvhen soldiers to support her cause and her power, much like you, Viscountess!” he said with a snarl at Caitlyn. “But your Chantry has not been a friend. Your so-called Divines excised Shartan’s part from your Chant of Light. Your soldiers drove us from the Dales. These people do not recognize even the existence of our gods, or they defame them by calling them demons—as if we are babies, as if we do not enter the Beyond too and know what demons are!”

“You are Children of the Maker,” protested the priest. “It is one thing that humans and elves have in common. There are those who think that the qunari race are Children of the Maker as well, since they too can enter the Fade. But you definitely are, and we just want you to return to Him.”

The hunter scoffed. “We all know what your head priest thinks of the qunari. They are our enemy too, but that does not make _her_ our friend. She must think the same of us.”

“The Grand Cleric hates the Qun ideology,” said the priest. “She holds that the Chant is open to all who would receive it—”

“No, she wants to force it on everyone.”

_“Enough!”_ Caitlyn roared. She glared at the hunters and the Chantry folk. “I think it is time for all of you to separate. Perhaps, mother, you should take your sisters and Templars back to your camp for a time to let everyone cool off. I came because I need to speak with the Keeper about something unrelated, but I will also consult with her about the path forward for this... situation.”

The priest huffed but did not disagree, and in fact, she seemed to think it a good idea. She gestured to her fellows to withdraw. The hunter who seemed to be the leader of the Dalish group scoffed as well and led his group away.

Caitlyn took a deep breath to try to calm herself. She was becoming furious—and alarmed.  _I should have known that Petrice would do this,_ she thought as she walked toward the area of the camp where Marethari had been for previous visits.  _It could be worse—blood could have been spilled—but this is quite bad enough. This was never going to end well. Religious conversion only succeeds when someone is unhappy—or the proselytizer makes threats. The Dalish are perfectly satisfied with their religion. That leaves threats and menace. It apparently has not reached that point yet, but it’s going to soon._

Merrill remained silent as they approached Marethari’s aravel. Caitlyn realized that her friend had not said anything, and she stole another glance at her. The young elf’s face was set, her expression dark. Unease filled Caitlyn as she realized that she would have to talk with her very extensively on the way back. Merrill was probably feeling betrayed, she realized.

Marethari’s aravel was open to the clean mountain air, though she and her new apprentice were hidden behind the sails. Merrill gazed at the male elf who had replaced her and completely failed to suppress her glower. Her old mentor gave her a sad look. “Your Grace,” she said to Caitlyn. “I am glad to see you again, Merrill,” she added quietly.

“You replaced me,” Merrill accused.

She glanced at her new First, then back at Merrill and Caitlyn. “You chose your path, da’len. I am old and will not live forever.”

“Another thing lost to our people,” Merrill whispered.

Marethari gazed sadly at her. “The clan must have one who can be Keeper when I have gone to the Creators. This is Huon. He and his wife Nyssa joined us last winter.”

Huon gazed up at Caitlyn and Merrill. “Your Grace. Merrill.”

“Huon escaped from the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall six months ago,” Marethari said, her voice very low. “He destroyed his phylactery, so they cannot prove anything.”

“I don’t turn in other mages to the Templars,” Caitlyn said immediately. “Even when they are doing evil, I fight them myself. And of course you must protect your clan. It is a pleasure to meet you, Huon.” She turned back to Marethari. “Keeper. I actually came here to ask about something that has nothing to do with what’s going on in your camp. I didn’t know anything about that, but now that I have seen it, I certainly want to talk with you about it too.”

“What was your first purpose, then?” Marethari asked.

“Have your people seen a group of travelers passing through the mountain trails recently? Meaning the past two or three weeks?” she asked.

Marethari shook her head. “We have not. Is this the group responsible for the attack on the Healers in your Keep? These Chantry folk brought the news.”

“We’re not sure how much direct responsibility they share, but they definitely incited and inspired the assassin,” said Caitlyn. “They left the city.”

“Well, I wish I could give you an affirmative answer, but unfortunately we have not seen any such group passing. They must have taken another road.”

Caitlyn sighed, nodding. “It was just a chance—but I am still glad I came, because I had no idea of what was happening here. Your hunters spoke to me and gave me their side. Is there anything you want me to tell the Grand Cleric? I could ask her to tell these people to stand down if they are too aggressive....”

Marethari gave Caitlyn a sad, weary smile. “Your Grand Cleric is a true believer. I understand why you allied with her; your cause is important too, but I took her measure when we negotiated this deal. And the Chantry folk have not violated the treaty. The problem, I’m afraid, is that sometimes people are simply too different in their customs and ways of life to live together in peace.”

“But it’s not about differences. They are trying to convert your clan.”

“Their faith demands it. If the great empire of Elvhenan still existed, no doubt my people would seek to convert yours. If we believe strongly that we are right about something, be it religious, political, or anything else, we seek to change others’ minds. It _is_ about differences. This is the nature of all thinking, feeling people,” she said. “I commend you for trying to forge peace. I hoped too that it would work out. Even an old woman, who has seen the world at its worst many times, can hope,” she said, a tear forming in the corner of one eye. “But I am sadly unsurprised that it has happened this way instead. I... may have to lead my people off this mountain, to a different location, to avoid an ugly confrontation that may escalate to violence,” she finished.

Caitlyn gasped. “You don’t need to do that! I can tell Petrice to have these people back off.”

“You rule the city of Kirkwall, but your power does not extend to the Chantry,” said Marethari, “and what they are doing _is_ permitted by the treaty.”

“The hunters were angry at the Chantry folk for making their camp so close to the boundaries of yours,” Caitlyn said. “They think it’s so that they can see if your clan does leave.”

“The treaty refers to the Sundermount. If we leave, its provisions are null and void. They can follow us, but if we leave the lands under Kirkwall’s authority, they may run afoul of another sovereign territory’s law.”

“But if you leave, you give up your ownership of the Sundermount!”

Marethari gazed unhappily at her. “That is true, but it may be what is best.”

* * *

Merrill fell silent again as she and Caitlyn descended from the camp. She clammed up entirely when they met up with the guards again, and as the group headed back toward Kirkwall, Caitlyn stole occasional glances at her to check on her. To Caitlyn’s alarm and dismay, Merrill’s expression became steadily stonier as they neared the city.

At last the guards dispersed as they reached the Keep. Caitlyn headed into a small audience chamber in the outer Keep, hoping that Merrill would follow her. She did, though the expression on her face was now so dark and angry that Caitlyn thought she might have made a mistake in having this talk right now. Bracing herself, she closed the door tightly and sat down across from Merrill.

“Merrill,” she began, leaning forward, gazing at her friend compassionately, “I see that you’re angry, and I don’t blame you. But please understand that I did not want this to happen, and I will do what I can to fix it.”

Merrill snapped. “You did not want this to happen?” she said mockingly. “You made the Keeper sign a treaty that gave the priest _permission_ to do it!”

“I negotiated that treaty to try to protect the clan! Otherwise there would have been no rules for what Chantry folk could do if they encountered the clan on the mountain. They could desecrate your people’s religious icons instead of just glaring at them. They could attack unprovoked. I know what Petrice is like and I wanted to protect the Dalish from her worst impulses.”

“You should have left us be!” Merrill exploded. “You announced to the whole Small Council, including her, that you were deeding the Sundermount to my clan. That was what gave her the idea of sending missionaries! She might have left us alone if she did not know that we were there.”

“Merrill,” Caitlyn said patiently, “it’s not a secret that the clan is there. She would have found out. I deeded the mountain to them to make their _right_ to be there very clear.”

“A right that your Chantry folk clearly do not respect! Oh, they observe the camp boundary—but they made very sure that they would be able to watch us.”

Caitlyn realized that Merrill was saying “us” and “we” despite having left the clan several years ago. Something suddenly occurred to her, and she did not wait to voice the thought. “Merrill, you say ‘us’ and ‘we.’ Is some of this reaction anger and jealousy of Marethari’s new First?”

Merrill started. Her eyes widened, and a deep, intense fury suffused her face. Caitlyn realized in a split second that she had made a mistake, but it was too late. Merrill glowered and began to rise from her seat. “The Keeper has the right to train whomever she wishes.”

“You told her that she replaced you.”

“She did. It doesn’t matter. Your treaty invited all of this to happen, but that is fine by you, isn’t it, because you have to keep your great Chantry ally with you to protect _your_ power and _your_ cause!” Merrill raged. “What does a small clan of Dalish elves matter compared to the rights of Andrastian mages in their Circles?”

“Merrill, that’s unfair,” Caitlyn objected, trying not to blow up at her. “This is about much more than Andrastian Circle mages. It’s about _all_ mages. I was never in a Circle, Anders is not really Andrastian, and the bad Templars steal mages from Dalish clans too.”

“And there are two Templars lurking about the camp even now!”

“They won’t....”

“If they decide to, your great treaty of ‘protection’ won’t prevent it! You expect that we should trust the good faith of people in an institution that has done nothing but harm to us for centuries!” She stormed toward the door. “I resign from your Small Council, _Your Grace.”_

Shocked and horrified, Caitlyn leaped to her feet. “Merrill! Don’t do that! We can talk this out....”

Merrill calmed slightly, some of the anger in her face turning to sadness and resignation. “I cannot be part of this. My place is with my people.”

With that, she opened the door and shuffled out without another look.

Caitlyn stared bleakly at the open door as Merrill left. Part of her screamed that she should go after her friend, but another part said that Merrill would only attack her if she did, and the guards would then apprehend Merrill if they saw. _She needs to be alone,_ Caitlyn told herself miserably. _And I need to think about what to do now. Add new clauses to the treaty to protect mages, definitely. But what will be enough to make this right? Petrice won’t agree to anything that removes her right to send missionaries, and I’m afraid that is the only thing that will satisfy Merrill... or several of the hunters. I agree with the Dalish, because that’s their home and we all have the right to deny proselytizers entrance to our homes, but there is no way I can get that into the treaty. What can I do? What in the Void can I do? And if they do leave the mountain, how will Merrill ever forgive me? I’ll lose a friend for good over this. How can I convince her that I really did mean well and that some type of compromise is the only way that they can stay on the Sundermount?_

In the echoes of Merrill’s retreat, her thoughts provided no answers.

* * *

That evening, Anders and Mal could tell that she was upset. Mal cuddled next to his mother after dinner, when the family sat down in the sitting room to read and unwind from the day. “It’s going to be all right, Mother,” he told her.

She managed a weak smile and wrapped her arm around him. “Thank you.”

Anders gazed at them from the chair in which he was seated. “It’s Merrill, isn’t it? I heard about what you found on the mountain.”

That surprised her; she had not been able to tell him about it in detail. “Yes,” she said. “She resigned from the Small Council in anger... but it’s what she said that bothers me more. She accused me of disregarding her clan, her people, for my own power and cause....”

“She’s wrong, then. That’s not what you did.”

“It’s not what I _meant_ to do,” Caitlyn said heavily, “but... I wonder if, in a way, she’s right. I asked the Dalish to compromise, but what right have I to ask that of them? They’ve been made to compromise everything they are for ages. And I wanted to protect them, yes, but I _did_ write this treaty so that _I_ wouldn’t lose my most critical ally.”

“Mages have been made to compromise everything we are, too,” he pointed out, “and in a way, it is worse for us. Elves in Dalish clans can have families. There is no organized, concerted effort anymore to round up all the Dalish and force them into alienages. Humans mostly don’t _like_ them, but they accept their presence if they keep to themselves and avoid running afoul of trespassing and poaching laws. That’s not true for mages.”

Caitlyn sighed heavily as Mal leaned into her side. “It’s difficult,” she said, her voice small. “Nothing has been easy or clear-cut. And I still need to find a way to give the clan better terms and save my friendship with Merrill.”

Anders got up and walked over to sit on her other side, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Give her time,” he urged. “She’s very upset right now, so let her think it over and come around first.”

* * *

The next day was a busy one, and Caitlyn barely had time to sit down with the treaty in front of her to write new clauses into it. At last, toward the end of the day, she unrolled the official document on her desk and took a blank sheet for note-taking. She had just dipped her pen into the inkwell when a knock sounded on the door that she recognized as Varric’s.

Suppressing a curse, she flung down the pen. “Varric? Is that you?”

“The one and only,” he said, but she could tell that the levity was forced. He sounded very anxious. “There’s a problem, Hawke.”

“Come in,” she said at once. He opened the door and passed into the room, taking a seat across from her desk. His face was deeply troubled.

“Merrill left her room at the Hanged Man last night,” he said, “and she hasn’t been back. I have not seen her at all today.”

Fear shot down Caitlyn’s spine. “She didn’t say where she was going?”

“Nope. Do you have any ideas?”

“She might have gone to the Sundermount,” she said. “We had an argument about the Dalish clan and the treaty I negotiated. Chantry people are there, and it’s creating conflict. And the Keeper has taken a new apprentice. Merrill resigned from the Small Council saying that her place was with her people.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” Varric said.

“But she might also have gone back to the house in the alienage, I suppose. She was angry about the clan, but she seemed to accept that she was no longer part of it. In fact, I think some of her anger was due to that realization.”

“It’s on the way,” Varric said. “I can check there first.”

_“We_ can check there. I haven’t been as good a friend to her as I should have been. I’m going.”

* * *

The elves of Kirkwall’s alienage were disturbed and secretive. Caitlyn and Varric saw pairs of eyes watching them from behind dusty, draped windows, but no one came out. Finally, she decided to take a risk. When she removed the hood of her cloak, revealing her distinctive red hair, a woman recognized her and emerged from her house.

“Your Grace,” the elf woman said, gazing at the ground, “we did not realize that it was you.”

“It’s all right,” Caitlyn said. “My friend and I are here to look for Merrill. Has anyone in the alienage seen her today?”

The woman’s husband emerged gingerly from the house and stood by his wife, placing a hand on her waist, as they both trembled. The elven couple seemed to be making a decision about what to say. Finally the woman spoke again. “She was taken,” she whispered.

Caitlyn’s face fell, eyes widening in horror. “What?” she breathed. “By Templars?”

The woman nodded miserably. “She arrived yesterday. We urged her to leave her little house and return to safety, but she... cursed us with a spell, which forced us out of the house. There must have been people watching her, because they came today and entered the house by force. They did that Templar thing to fight magic. There were lights inside for a few minutes. We heard shouts, and then we saw them carrying her out, knocked out cold.”

“Oh Maker,” Caitlyn whispered. “Did you recognize any of the Templars?”

“I....” She glanced at her husband, eyes wide with fear, then swallowed hard as she turned back to face her Viscountess. “The Knight-Commander was leading them, and very smug she was. _Please,_ Your Grace, I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but _please—”_

“I won’t tell anyone it was you,” Caitlyn said. “Thank you for telling me.” She took a shuddering breath, barely able to think. Fury at Meredith and personal guilt warred with terror for Merrill and a rapidly growing resolve to get her friend out of that place immediately. “Take care of yourselves. And if you happen to see Merrill among you in the future... I had _nothing_ to do with that, of course. There are many in Kirkwall who help mages escape.”

The elven couple nodded at once, understanding her intention. “Of course, Your Grace.”

* * *

Caitlyn burst into the inner Keep with Varric. Anders was waiting for her just inside, very alarmed at her absence. She had not told him where she was going; she had left with Varric immediately, and the guards had only been able to say that they had seen her and the dwarf hooded and cloaked. “What in the Void has happened?” he exclaimed, taking her arm.

“They got Merrill,” she burst out. She clung to him, feeling her legs almost give out, reaching for his feather-clad shoulders to steady herself. “That bitch Meredith _personally_ led a group of Templars into the alienage, and they were seen taking her out of her house unconscious! This is my fault, Anders. I failed her, and I’ve got to get her out. She follows the Dalish religion and may still be a blood mage. They’ll _kill_ her! We don’t have a moment to lose.”

Anders was struck silent for a moment as he took in the dreadful news. At last he nodded. “Of course. But—are you sure that _you_ should be involved—”

“I let her down!” Caitlyn burst out. “I don’t care what title I have! Her point was that I put my power above her people, and I damn well will not be selfish when _she herself_ is in danger. I’m going to help break her out of that horrible place, period!”

Anders pulled her gently into the nearest room. Varric followed and closed the door behind them. He sat down with her on a two-seat sofa and took her hands in his. “Darling,” he said seriously, “you can’t just storm the Gallows. We need to bring in others. Selby runs the Mage Underground... and we’ll need a Templar too, probably, if the bastards have cut her already. Thrask....”

Caitlyn took deep breaths to calm herself. “Yes,” she said more reasonably. “You’re right. But Anders, we cannot waste time! Can you imagine how much glee that evil bitch would feel to kill Merrill? We have to get her out!”

“I’ll get Thrask,” said Varric.

“And Mistress Selby lives at home,” Anders added. “We’ll send a courier. We’ll do it as soon as we can, but we do need these people to help.” He held her upper arms and gazed compassionately at her.

She breathed deeply one last time before swallowing hard and nodding.

* * *

It was late, but the small group met inside the Inner Keep and discussed a plan even when the clocks struck midnight. Thrask had indeed seen Merrill carried into the Circle, and he could confirm that the Templars wasted no time in making a phylactery for her.

“Are you going to be safe doing this?” Caitlyn asked, concerned. “And do they know that you aren’t there tonight?”

“I’m supposed to be patrolling Hightown,” he said. “You raise a good point, though. I had better remain in case anyone suspects me when they realize that she has escaped. But Keran knows too, and we have a small circle of Templars whom we trust.”

“You trusted Samson, and now he’s one of Meredith’s,” said Anders.

“That was a mistake,” admitted Thrask, “but these new... friends... are mostly young and relatively new. They have not been corrupted by exposure to her malice and cruelty. Every one that Keran and I trust joined specifically to protect the mages, and several _have_ mage relatives, apostates they’re also protecting. They will get Merrill’s phylactery out.”

“And you know the Darktown tunnels very well,” said Mistress Selby. She turned to Caitlyn. “That said, this _is_ illegal, so you should be disguised. And so should you,” she added to Anders.

“Well, yes,” Caitlyn agreed. She turned back to Thrask. “So—you will get your message to Keran or one of the others, and we’ll wait in the tunnels for Mistress Selby’s contacts to appear with Merrill?”

He nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

They did not waste any more time. Caitlyn rose from the table, dismissing the meeting, and they quickly and silently prepared themselves to do their own individual parts in the escape. Anders went to pick up heavy concealing cloaks for them, Mistress Selby sketched a map of the smuggling tunnels for Thrask to give to his friends, and Varric oiled Bianca’s mechanism in case it came to that.

They had regrouped and stepped out into the outer Keep when Donnic Hendyr approached them. A familiar elderly Dalish elf stood by him.

“Your Grace,” he said to Caitlyn, “the Keeper of the Dalish wishes to speak with you and the Consort privately. I presume it’s magic-related.”

She and Anders exchanged nervous, fearful glances as they stepped aside to talk quietly with Marethari. The elderly woman’s face was sorrowful.

“I assume, based on whom I see here, that you know what happened to Merrill and you mean to get her out,” said the Keeper.

Caitlyn nodded. “I feel responsible. I hate so much that this happened—”

Marethari took a deep breath and continued, sadness in her words. “Merrill left in a fury, and she is reckless when she is angry, so I am sure that you are not wholly responsible for this. But recriminations can come later. For now... I did not know exactly what had happened until I came to the Keep, but when I went to sleep tonight, I had a frightening experience in the Fade concerning her.”

Anders drew his breath sharply. He seemed to have guessed what was next.

“The pride demon that has ‘advised’ her before was very close to her again. I could not get close to _her_ in the Fade, but the demon was close to convincing her that she had to let it take her over in order for her to escape the Circle.”

Caitlyn covered her mouth with her hands. “Did it—” she choked out.

“No, it did not,” said Marethari heavily, “but... if, during this escape....” She trailed off and took another breath, gazing past them as she did. “You must promise me that you will do what is necessary, no matter how hard it is.”

Caitlyn staggered backward, palms grabbing at the stone wall for support as she fell against it. She gaped at Marethari. “You’re asking us to—” She could not finish.

Anders was even more distraught, due to the intimately personal experience of spirit contact that he had. He could only stare at her in mute horror.

“You must,” the Keeper croaked, turning aside. “You _must._ The demon has become very strong. It must not be set free. You _must_ do the necessary. I have left Huon in charge of the clan,” she added, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Caitlyn’s eyes were closed as she trembled against the wall, lost in her own morass of paralyzing guilt. “I can’t,” she whispered. “She’s my friend.”

Anders suddenly gasped as something occurred to him. He took a step away from the Keeper, eyes wide, a flash of bluish-white momentarily appearing in them. He steadied himself, stared at her in shock, and nodded. She stared back sadly at him. Turning away from her at once, he stepped over to Caitlyn and drew her gently away from the wall. “Come,” he said softly.

She fell forward into his arms but regained her footing swiftly. Breathing heavily to calm herself, she finally opened her eyes and nodded at him. “Let’s do this. If we can get her out, nobody will have to put down an abomination.”

Anders gazed back miserably at Marethari as they left.

* * *

Varric, Marethari, Anders, and Caitlyn waited in the tunnels of Darktown for the rescuers to appear with Merrill. Thrask had warned them that it might not be possible to smuggle Merrill and her phylactery out tonight, depending on what was happening at the Gallows and how closely Meredith was watching. Caitlyn knew that she was exhausted; her body and mind were screaming at her for sleep, but she also knew that she would not sleep well if she could settle down her anxiety and emotional tumult enough to rest at all—which she could not. There was nothing to do right now; the tunnels were mercifully free of smugglers, so she just sat next to Anders and gripped both his hands tightly with her own as she waited.

Finally a deliberate series of lantern flashes illuminated the dark tunnel ahead of them. Anders leaped to attention; evidently it was a code used by the Mage Underground. Caitlyn and Varric got to their feet and moved forward. She turned back when she realized that Marethari was not following.

“Go ahead,” said the elderly woman, gazing at the ground. “I must stay.”

That was odd... but Anders took Caitlyn’s arm and urged her forward with an even stranger urgency. It was as though he wanted to get her away from the Keeper, she thought... but her mind was still too much a swirl of emotions and exhaustion right now to think too hard about it. She walked on with the others until they came upon a trio of people—all civilians, no Templars among them; the Templars’ part had ended at the Gallows. They were carrying a large crate.

“Ah, there you are,” one of them said, setting the crate down and getting to his knees to unlock it. Another fished in her pocket and presented Varric with a glass vial filled with deep red blood.

“What should we do with that?” Caitlyn asked, wanting to destroy the foul thing. “Can they gather up blood if it’s spilled and use it again?”

“We assume so, and that’s why we destroy them with fire. There will always be a mage nearby who can do that!” joked the rescuer.

Caitlyn moved back into the shadows. These people had no idea who she was behind her heavy dark hood, and that was how she wanted it. “Thank you for helping our friend,” she said. “We can take her from here.”

“Glad to do it,” grunted the man as his fellows turned aside to depart. He unlocked the last latch on the crate and stepped back, giving them a nod as he left with his comrades.

The lid of the crate opened on its hinges as Merrill got to her feet. Caitlyn could barely suppress her glower of outrage at the sight before her. Merrill was wearing heavy, prudish, ill-fitting robes in crimson and gold, the sunburst symbol of the Chantry on the skirt.

“Deliberate disrespect,” muttered Anders. “A statement of _ownership._ That evil woman must have wanted to parade Merrill before us as a trophy.”

Merrill looked utterly destroyed, gazing at Caitlyn as the latter lowered her hood, sorrow and regret in her elven eyes. “You got me out,” she whispered.

Caitlyn rushed forward to hug her. “Hey,” she said, “of course. You’re my friend.” She hugged her tightly. “And we’ll get you out of that stuff too. Do you need anything right now? Did anyone... hurt you?” _If they did,_ she vowed, _if there are any more rapists at that place, I_ will _storm the Gallows._

“They cut me,” Merrill whimpered. “They cut me and hit me.”

“Anything else?” Caitlyn said, her voice so low that only Merrill could hear.

Merrill shook her head, realizing what Caitlyn was asking. “No. Not that. But... I understand now. I understand why this is so important to you....”

“Shh,” Caitlyn said. “You’re out now and you’re never going back.”

“There are still mages in there. There are _children_ in there.”

“That’s why we care,” said Caitlyn as Merrill drew away from her, misery still in her eyes. “You’re all right? The Keeper is here, Merrill. She came too.” She did not see Anders blanch at this.

Nor did Merrill, who looked up with hope and genuine happiness for the first time. “She did?” she said in awe, steadying herself on her feet.

“She is waiting in this very tunnel,” Caitlyn said. “Let’s see her!”

Anders walked quickly ahead of the others as they followed. Caitlyn tried to catch up, but he only put more distance between himself and them as she did. “Anders!” she exclaimed. “What in the Void—”

At the end of the tunnel, Marethari was on her feet, but she was bent over, her staff rolling at her feet. “Keeper?” exclaimed Caitlyn in alarm.

Marethari stood upright, but something was very, very wrong. For a brief moment, her eyes blazed with an unearthly, sinister light, and she spoke with a voice that was not her own. “I was deceived,” she rumbled. “The old one tricked me. But I laugh last, for this vessel is far more powerful!”

Merrill and Varric had caught up with them, and a horrified cry escaped the elf as she understood what was happening. Caitlyn froze in place, gaping in terror at the sight before her. Keeper Marethari grew tall, broad, and spikes protruded from her transforming body as Pride, now grown to an even stronger form, took her over.

Anders let out a roar and charged the demon, the light of Justice crackling righteously down his neck and arms but not blazing from his eyes. He was still in control. Caitlyn suddenly understood what Marethari had really meant by her plea at the Keep. _It wasn’t to kill Merrill,_ she thought, readying a spell instinctively. _She meant herself! She sacrificed herself, offering herself to the demon because that was the only way to protect Merrill!_

Merrill was paralyzed with horror and wretchedness for the first minute of the fight, but after the other two mages had gotten in several fierce, damaging blows, and Varric had landed four bolts, Merrill finally joined the fray.

It was an ugly fight. The demon _was_ powerful, and it now had all the magic that Keeper Marethari was capable of doing. It required every one of them to finally put the thing down, and at the last, the demon seemed to flee her body, returning it to the form of an elderly elf woman.

“It is over,” breathed Marethari, lying on the ground.

Merrill leaned in, tears in her eyes. “Keeper,” she whispered.

In the next moment, Marethari’s eyes blazed brightly again. A feral snarl escaped her mouth, and she lunged for Merrill, a knife in hand.

Merrill drew back, screaming. With her head turned aside, unable to look at what she was doing, she cast a destructive spell that sucked all the life out of Marethari in a ghastly cloud. The Keeper strained for one last moment before falling down dead.

Merrill leaned over Marethari’s body. “Keeper,” she whispered, her voice becoming a sob. “You... did this for me....”

Caitlyn wobbled on her feet, her tiredness rushing back to her at once. She steadied herself with her staff and leaned against it. “She loved you,” she said.

Merrill snapped her head away from Marethari, glaring at Caitlyn with sudden fury in her face. “This wouldn’t have happened if _your_ allies hadn’t menaced the clan!”

Caitlyn drew back sharply. “I will take responsibility for the situation on the mountain, but _you_ left your place of safety! I didn’t get you captured!”

“She was part of getting you _out,”_ Anders added. “Which your demon wouldn’t have done!”

Merrill looked as if she wanted to hit him, but she drew back instead, bursting into tears. “You hypocrite!” she exclaimed. “How dare you?” She fell to her knees, hovering over Marethari’s body, and glared malevolently at both of them. _“You_ cared about nothing but your own power, your _politics, your_ cause—”

“You said you understood after seeing the Circle,” Caitlyn snapped.

“But my cause matters too! My people were nothing to you but a thing to trade for a powerful ally. And _you_ are the biggest hypocrite in Kirkwall!” she snarled at Anders. “What do you think your _Vengeance_ is?”

“Daisy,” Varric said warily, “this isn’t helping.”

Caitlyn was beyond caring now. “You are impatient, heedless, and unable to learn _anything_ from _anyone_ because you think you know better than anyone else, regardless of what they’ve seen—including Anders, me, and your own Keeper! _You_ are the one who turned to a demon to get out of the Circle rather than trusting your own friends not to abandon you!”

Varric groaned and closed his eyes.

Merrill rose to her feet, pulling Marethari’s body with her. “Leave,” she demanded. “Leave me in peace for once!” She turned to Varric. _“You_ may stay. You have been a _true_ friend to me!”

At that, Caitlyn whirled her staff in her hands as if she wanted to cast a hex on Merrill, but she did not. She breathed heavily, glaring at Merrill, before turning aside and storming off, Anders hurrying to keep up with her. Merrill’s sobs echoed through the tunnel until they reached Darktown. Caitlyn closed her ears to them and tried not to think of what had just happened. She tugged the hood over her face as she stormed through Darktown.

“Caitlyn,” he said as they popped out at the surface at last in Hightown.

“I’m going to the Chantry,” she said through clenched teeth, clutching her staff tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. Tiny flames began to shoot from her other hand, vanishing in the night. “I don’t care what hour it is. I’m going to the fucking Chantry and I’m going to give Petrice a piece of my mind—”

Anders was stunned; she rarely used that swearword. “Cait, I’m not saying that she doesn’t deserve that, because she does, but that’s a really bad idea right now. You’re furious, you’re exhausted, you’re leaking magic—”

She stopped cold in front of the steps to the Keep. “I’m going _now.”_

“You’ll make it even worse. _Sleep,_ Caitlyn. Sleep, then think it over and decide on what to say. Wait until the morning.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do, Anders. I’m the Viscountess of Kirkwall and I’m going. Go to bed.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then gazed sadly at her. “Please forgive me for this tomorrow.” Raising his staff and pointing it at an angle at her, he cast a hard, intense sleep spell, then caught her as she tumbled. Suppressing a miserable sob, he snapped his staff onto the hook on his back and carried her in both arms into the Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it looks like I’m just cleaning house by tying off both Dalish/Merrill subplots at once, but it was always my intention for them to converge like this.
> 
> As I mentioned in a previous chapter, I didn’t forget what Petrice is and what her true priority is. Caitlyn did, though.
> 
> There is obviously a lot of talking and patching up that must occur in the next chapter, but following that one, there should be something nice for a change.


	20. Drowning in the Mess That I’ve Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for reading the story! To my new readers who reviewed very faithfully for this and the first story, I will reply to you, but getting this posted was my first priority, and I hope you understand. I'm not ignoring your comments!
> 
> Song is “Erase This” by Evanescence.

After carrying Caitlyn into the Keep, taking off her shoes, belt, and clothing, and laying her down on the bed, Anders found himself nearly unable to get to sleep. He watched her for an hour, before the first hint of dawn began to creep through the windows, wondering and worrying.

 _Will she hate me in the morning for what I did on the steps?_ he thought anxiously. _I don’t think I had much choice; if she really had stormed into the Chantry at three in the morning to unleash a tirade on the Grand Cleric, it would have been disastrous for her. But was it my place to forcibly deny her the chance to do it? I made a horrible series of decisions myself when she was in Ferelden; what right do I have to block her from doing anything? She wanted to protect Merrill’s clan, so she took an action that resulted in disaster... I wanted to protect her from making a bad decision, so I took an action... that I hope won’t result in disaster for our relationship...._

When the black sky began to turn blue, he finally realized that there was nothing to be done about it now. It was done, and she would react however she reacted. The best thing he could do now would be to sleep too, at least for a few hours, so that if she did wake up furious with him, he would not have that confrontation after a night of no sleep. With that, the Fade took him.

* * *

When Caitlyn woke up, the sun had already risen. She blinked herself awake as confusion overtook her. She did not remember entering the inner Keep last night. She gazed at herself; she was wearing only her smallclothes. The light leathers she had worn were draped across the back of a chair across the bedroom, but she definitely did not recall taking that off. Next to her, Anders slept soundly, close enough that his warmth reached her body. She smiled at that; he always looked so innocent and sweet in his sleep when it was peaceful and the spirit was not in control.

Then she remembered. _I was on the steps of the Keep, threatening to go to the Chantry, and Anders... asked me to forgive him. Then he... oh._ She realized what must have happened. A momentary flare of anger passed through her, but it vanished at once at the thought of what she had almost done. _I forgive you,_ she thought, gazing at him as he slept. _You kept me from doing something incredibly foolish and destructive._ At this, the full set of memories from the day before flooded her mind, and misery threatened to overwhelm her.

 _Merrill is utterly furious with me,_ she thought. _Meredith captured her and took her to the Circle, she turned to the pride demon to try to escape, Keeper Marethari sacrificed herself instead... and all of this was triggered by the fact that Chantry missionaries are in conflict with the Dalish. Maker, what am I going to do? I’ve got to get the Dalish a better deal, but how? And how can I ever regain Merrill’s trust and friendship now?_ Feeling wretched, she drew up her legs and buried her face between her knees. A sob escaped her involuntarily, which was like a dam breaking. A flood of sobs followed, much to her dismay—she did not want to wake Anders, but this was making enough noise that she did not see how it couldn’t.

He shifted beside her, waking up, and rolled onto his back once his eyes fluttered open. He gazed at her; her head was buried between her knees, and she was crying her heart out. His own heart went out to her at the sight. “Darling,” he said gently, propping himself on his elbows.

She lifted her head, revealing a tear-stained face. “Thank you for keeping me from making this much worse. Damn the woman, but I cannot afford to lose her support.” She hiccuped.

He gazed sympathetically at her. “I’m sorry for doing it nonetheless.” He pushed himself up, sitting upright, and placed his right arm gently around her back. “Do you want to talk? I’m here. I’m always here for you.”

“That would be unfair. You must have had even less sleep than I did.”

He smiled. “But I can nap during the day. Mal won’t like not going to the clinic immediately, but there are plenty of other things for him to do while I sleep. You probably... unfortunately... don’t have that luxury, so please, talk to me if you need to.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Merrill was right,” she burst out. “I didn’t want her to be, but she was. I did put my cause and my political strategy ahead of her people.” She gazed up at him with wounded eyes. “Anders, this is exactly what I feared, that this _position_ would end up destroying my friendships and leave me with nothing except alliances of convenience. Petrice is an ally, not a friend. Merrill has been a friend. And which did I assign more importance with my actions?”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” he said at once. “You can make things right with Merrill still.”

“Can I?” she said. “That’s not up to me. I can _try,_ but if she is done with me, then no, I can’t.” She wiped her eyes and gazed ahead. “This makes me question everything, to be honest.”

“What do you mean, everything?” he said quickly, alarm in his words.

She took another shuddering breath. “My allies and friends are attacking and undermining each other while Meredith’s side is strong and resilient.”

“Caitlyn—”

“It’s true,” she said, finality in her tone. “That is _exactly_ what happened. And... there was something Keeper Marethari said at camp.” She closed her eyes briefly, refreshing the memory in her mind. “She said that sometimes people are just too different to live together in peace, if the difference is about strongly held convictions. I’ve cobbled together a coalition and a Council of people who have different things that they value. You and I are the radical reformer mages. Aveline wants to root out corruption and establish the rule of law in the city. Merrill wants— _wanted_ —to make life better for elves and bring back Dalish lore and culture. Petrice has her own agenda, and it has sometimes overlapped with what I want, but... how can people with so many different priorities, some of which are at odds, work together?”

“Compromise?” he said weakly, aware that the word was deeply ironic coming from him.

She laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, and it quickly morphed into a sob. “And if we do, then what? Meredith’s side isn’t compromising anything. They are united in their awful beliefs. If she sees us compromising what we want because otherwise we’ll tear each other to pieces, that will only embolden her further. She will want to see how far she can push us before the ‘compromises’ we make are too much and cause someone in our faction to break. In fact, that may have just happened.” She sighed. “Honestly, after this, I wonder if the best thing I could do would be to just... leave.”

“Leave?” he repeated, not comprehending. Surely she couldn’t mean—

“Abdicate,” she said, her lips curling.

“What?” he exclaimed, embracing her tightly and gaping at her. “Of course you shouldn’t!”

“Shouldn’t I?” she said bitterly. “What good have I been? The meager reforms to the Kirkwall Circle—only this one, the worst in Thedas, no other—all occurred before I became Viscountess. I’ve accomplished nothing.”

“That’s not true! You’ve set an example for mages that no one can erase. You’ve lived freely and openly as a free mage, a city hero, a _leader,_ a spouse and a parent... and you’ve _done_ things too. The reform _orders_ might have preceded you, but you already knew you were going to be crowned. It was a formality. And you implemented them. No other possible Viscount or Viscountess would have asked a Grand Cleric for these reforms.”

“Ser Marlein supported mage rights, and Comte de Launcet has a mage son,” she argued.

“They might have wanted something eventually,” he granted, “but not all of the reforms at once, even these mild ones. A lifelong noble like de Launcet would’ve wanted a personal, unofficial exception for his son, not a reform to the whole Circle to grant family visiting rights to every mage. These changes wouldn’t have happened under anyone else, love. No one else would have had battlemages in the City Guard or Healers in the Chantry and Keep.”

“Yes, I arranged for a healing clinic to be set up in the Keep, and we almost got killed, and innocent people were maimed.”

“And that wasn’t _at all_ your fault! A deranged fanatic did it!”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I make alliances with disparate people and congratulate myself as a shrewd politician for balancing their interests. I get a Chantry priest as an ally, I compromise my own ideals time and time again to support _her_ demagoguery, _her_ Game-playing tactics, _her_ drive to proselytize.... I do these things because it’s necessary for the cause of mage rights, but then, because of that, I can’t even protect one of my own dearest friends from my enemy! Merrill was taken to the Circle by Meredith herself, Anders! Who’s next? _Who else_ am I supposed to protect from that fate no matter what? I see what’s going to happen next, whom I’m going to fail next.” Her eyes were wide and filled with terror and disgust with herself.

Anders could not stand to listen to any more of this. He pulled her into his arms and pressed her head against his chest. “Stop,” he pleaded. “You’re not going to fail him. If Meredith _dared_ to threaten him, you and I, and all of our friends, would take her out right there. We promised that. We promised _that_ before we even took vows to each other.”

She muffled a sob, but she did not feel compelled to argue. His words soothed her as she remembered their promises, made over and over—that no matter what, they would protect their family.

“And this mess also isn’t your fault. You _did_ try to balance interests. It’s not your fault that the missionaries wouldn’t let the Dalish alone, and it’s definitely not your fault that Merrill was reckless and then turned to a demon in the Fade for rescue instead of trusting her friends to get her out.”

“It happened because of things I set in motion,” she protested weakly. “And how can you blame _her_ when she was the victim in this? I know you don’t blame mages in general for being captured.”

“I don’t, and we shouldn’t have to run or hide, but she was reckless to throw off your protection when she had to know, deep down, that you didn’t want any of that to happen on the Sundermount. But in terms of blaming her, I mean the demon and the Keeper’s death, more so than her capture. Remember, Caitlyn, I was also tempted by a demon that claimed to be able to help me escape. Justice is the only reason I didn’t give in. I don’t say it to be self-righteous about my own ‘strength’ or blame her for being ‘weak,’ because I was weak too! I was tempted by the same thing! But I accept that _I_ am the one who considered that temptation. It was _my_ fault and my weakness... so it is also hers.”

“She is my friend,” Caitlyn whispered, on the verge of crying, “and I should have kept a closer eye on her. Meredith’s thugs had been after her for months, but I just assumed Varric had it in hand and didn’t make any efforts to interfere after she turned down my offer to live at the Keep. And it wasn’t Varric’s responsibility. It was mine. I’m the one with power. I let her down, and her mentor is dead because of it. Her clan, the people she grew up with, will now be led by a Keeper who has been among them for barely six months.”

“Merrill could have been the Keeper herself.”

“Anders,” Caitlyn protested, “I’m not saying that you are wrong about the facts... but you asked me once not to try to absolve you of actions that you had decided were tyrannical, even if the people you did them to deserved it. I have to ask you, now, not to absolve me of failing as a friend. Whatever may have happened, whoever holds responsibility for what specific action, I feel that I have failed in my friendship with her. I....” She broke off, choking down a sob at last. “I need to own my share of the blame. I need to feel remorseful about this. Please let me.”

He finally, reluctantly, nodded, cradling her head against his chest tenderly. It hurt to see her beat herself up like this, but he did understand about guilt that would not go away. _If this is what she needs from me right now, I will give it to her,_ he vowed silently as he held her.

“You’re right,” she finally said quietly. “It would be stupid of me to step down. I have a responsibility and that would only be running from it.”

“That’s right,” he said encouragingly.

“I’ll make things right with Merrill,” she said. “I won’t run from my duty. But... Maker, Anders, I know it was always impossible that we could’ve lived a peaceful life as a family of mages with nothing changed in the world. I know that eventually, one of our children—or grandchildren—would have been taken, and our family would have been ripped apart. But there are still times when I wish none of this had happened—that you and Father had come back, and we had never been parted, and all of the family had made it to safety when the Blight came.”

“I feel that way too sometimes,” he said quietly, holding her close.

“I think I would’ve been a better person. I wouldn’t be fighting my own darkness all the time. You wouldn’t have had to struggle every day trying to save your spirit friend and yourself from that same darkness.” She lifted her head, gazing at him with wounded eyes. “It’s hard. It’s hard to have this much responsibility and to know what we have become.”

“I know,” he said in a gentle whisper, caressing her shoulders. “I know. But I’m here for you... and we _do_ have a family. We have Mal, and we have each other.”

* * *

Caitlyn felt better after that. Leaving Anders to resume his rest, she got dressed, had breakfast with Mal, and—much to his dismay—told him that he would need to entertain himself today because his father needed to sleep.

“Is Father all right?” the little boy asked.

“He is. He’s just tired, so you need to let him sleep until he is ready to stir around. He and I were busy very late last night, long after you had gone to sleep,” she explained.

“Well,” Mal groused, “I guess I can read until he gets up. And Baldwin and Pounce are here.”

“There you go.”

She left the Keep after that, deciding to go to the Chantry first. It occurred to her that Meredith would likely discover Merrill’s absence very quickly, if she hadn’t already discovered it, and Caitlyn needed to get on top of the situation. Varric would surely protect Merrill today, and she could go to the Hanged Man later and talk with them. She made sure to tell the guards where she was going, so that Meredith would hopefully not harass Anders or—especially—Mal.

As she walked toward the Chantry, she thought about what to say, how to handle this. Once again she silently thanked Anders for not letting her yell at Petrice in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted and emotionally distraught. Now she had the chance to think about her argument and to be shrewd about it.

 _The Dalish want protection for their Keeper and First,_ she thought, feeling a pang at the memory of Marethari’s death. _Petrice will surely be willing to grant that. Let’s see... they were also particularly offended that the Chantry folk said prayers when they saw the Dalish religious statues, and they wanted them to camp farther away... oh, and the hunter was deeply affronted at being told that his gods were really demons of the Fade._

As she continued her walk, she thought about it. _How do we know that the Dalish aren’t right?_ she realized. _That wouldn’t even preclude the existence of the Maker. Merrill has told me a little about their faith. They don’t believe that their Creators actually brought the world into existence from nothing, but rather, that they formed and shaped it. Both they and the Maker could be real. The Old Gods of Tevinter unquestionably existed, and according to the Grey Wardens, two still sleep. How do we know that the Dalish Creators aren’t real too?_ As this line of thought passed through her mind, she realized that there was no possible way she could say any of it to Petrice. _“There is but one god and He is our Maker,”_ she thought, reciting part of the Chant of Light in her mind. _But that’s not actually true, because of the Old Gods. They aren’t really demons like we know; they are something much more powerful. But Petrice won’t agree with any of this, and if I tell her any of these thoughts, she will consider me a heretic and never trust me again. This is a conversation to have with Anders and my own friends. For this conversation with her, somehow, I have to help the Dalish while making her believe that I support her goal of converting them._

She entered the Chantry and was shown to the Grand Cleric at once. “What brings you here today?” Petrice asked when Caitlyn entered her office.

Caitlyn sat down across from the head priest. “I don’t know how often you receive reports from the missionaries that you sent to the Sundermount,” she began, noting with grim satisfaction the look of surprise on Petrice’s face that Caitlyn knew about it—which was immediately followed by sheepishness and mild embarrassment, two emotions she never expected to see in this woman. “But I was there a couple of days ago, and the situation has become... tense.”

The priest considered her words. Caitlyn privately relished the fact that she had actually struck Petrice silent, and when the priest spoke again, her voice was very subdued, indicating that she knew she had done wrong by not telling Caitlyn about the missionaries. “I have been informed that the Dalish are rather hostile to the message,” she said. “It is unsurprising, given what happened with the Dales ages ago, but so it is. I deliberately chose a priest and sisters who would be... diplomatic... and Templars who don’t like the Knight-Commander and are uninterested in apprehending apostate mages. I regret that the Dalish are still unhappy.”

“I heard both sides of the conflict,” Caitlyn said. “The priests and Templars said as much about what they had done, and the Dalish agree that they haven’t violated the treaty, but they still had specific complaints and requests, which I think are mostly reasonable. I was hoping that you would hear me out.”

Petrice waited silently, folding her arms over her desk.

“First, the elves are worried about their Keeper and Keeper’s apprentice. Their customs require these people to be mages, and they are concerned because the treaty doesn’t specifically protect Dalish mages in writing even if these particular Templars and priests do leave them be.”

“Hawke, we cannot put that in writing in the treaty. You must realize that.”

“Why not?” she said aggressively, leaning forward.

“There are very limited ways to formally, legally protect mages. The Grey Wardens have immunity from the Circles, and a Grand Cleric or higher-ranked Chantry official can choose to grant freedom to individual mages by name, as I did for you. But the fact remains that outside those situations, a mage who is not a member of a Circle _is_ an apostate, and there is no basis in canon law as it currently is to decree that Dalish mages, categorically, have an exception, especially since they are not Andrastian.” When Caitlyn looked to object on principle, Petrice continued. “I realize that, whatever false gods they may believe in, whatever primitive manner in which they otherwise live, the Dalish do train their mages well—better than the Circles, one could even say, given that I’ve never heard of a Dalish clan having an abomination.”

 _Oh, dear sweet Maker,_ thought Caitlyn, the horrible memory of Marethari’s end returning immediately to her mind. _But then, she made that choice on purpose to save Merrill. She wasn’t tempted by the demon. It was a sacrifice._

“But it would be immediately challenged if you put in writing that Dalish mages were not subject to Chantry rules. It is unfortunate if the elves don’t trust the Templars and priests I chose, but unofficial protection is the best I can do, so long as canon law is what it is.”

Caitlyn sighed unhappily; she didn’t like it, but unfortunately it made sense to her. She quickly moved on to her next points. “Very well. The next issues that came up were... irritants to the Dalish, I guess you could say. Specific things that the Chantry folk did that offended them.”

“Such as?”

“They... take great offense at being told that the figures they worship are demons of the Fade, for one,” Caitlyn said. “A Dalish hunter explained why to me. He said that they too enter the Fade and know what demons and spirits are. Apparently nothing they interact with in the Fade is something they worship, and they are insulted at being spoken of as if they don’t know any better.”

“I see,” said Petrice. “So they believe that their false gods do not talk to them in the Fade, just as we believe about the true Maker. That does make the task of spreading the Chant more difficult, if they believe in things that they do not see even in their dreams, but it is important to know. Thank you for this information.”

 _She thinks I told her that to help her in her “mission,”_ thought Caitlyn. _I guess that’s what I wanted her to think, but I also want her to get the priests and sisters to change their behavior._ “It’s important to convey to your people that they need not to say this,” she urged. “In fact, speaking against the Dalish religion at all isn’t going to help. It’s only going to make them defensive and _more_ attached to it. You could tell your people not to say to the elves that their gods are false, but instead, just to talk about the Maker and His power and grace. Honey rather than vinegar, you might say.”

Petrice considered that, silently agreeing after a moment. “A good idea.”

“And since they know that they don’t worship demons, it’s not necessary for your people to say prayers of protection when they are around Dalish statues and religious idols,” said Caitlyn. “It’s just carved stone. The Templars should be able to detect if an object actually is housing a demon, in any case. But the Dalish take offense when the Chantry folk behave as if they need protection.”

“That is very petty of them, but if it offends their sensibilities so much that they are creating trouble for my mission group, so be it.”

 _Petty?_ Caitlyn thought. _What’s petty is for your people to pray for protection in front of the elves! But I’m not going to have this argument._ Instead she continued, “And the last big point that came up was that the Dalish don’t like the fact that the Chantry camp is set up within sight of theirs. They think they are being watched.”

Petrice actually scoffed at this. “More pettiness and paranoia! Very well. These are... not unreasonable requests, and I will pass on these instructions to my people, though I do hope that the Dalish do not take this as encouragement to demand more and more. The Qunari demand ever more when _they_ are appeased.”

Caitlyn decided to be daring at last, having gotten most of what she wanted and feeling relieved that she had managed to deceive the priest about where she stood regarding Petrice’s mission. “The Qunari force ‘conversion’ to the Qun by literally destroying the minds of dissenters, and they kill defectors,” she said. “The Dalish don’t do either of those things... and their way of life is not really _that_ dissimilar to ours compared to the Qunari culture. They don’t live in houses, but they do have their own form of marriage and believe in monogamy and raise families in the clans. They have no more use for demons than the Circle of Magi does... and they only turn violent when they are being attacked. They aren’t out to conquer anyone.”

A faint, wry smile formed on the priest’s face. “Your little Dalish friend must have been very forthcoming with you.”

Caitlyn was about to respond affirmatively—and to tell Petrice what had happened to Merrill—when a loud bang outside the office interrupted the meeting.

“The guards at the Keep told me where Hawke was!” roared a female voice. “I demand to see her and the high priest at once!”

Petrice’s expression instantly darkened. “What in all of Thedas is her problem now?” she snarled, rising to her feet with Caitlyn.

“I meant to tell you before she arrived,” Caitlyn said, her voice low and her words quick and panicked. “Something happened with my friend. Just let me handle this and follow my lead. Please.”

Petrice’s eyes widened as she deduced what must have happened. In the next second, the door slammed open and Meredith Stannard burst into the office. Her eyes were wide, wild, and bloodshot, and she looked more furious than Caitlyn had ever seen—and less sane. A vein was thumping in her right temple, and her neck was actually lined with sinew and blood vessels as well.

“What is the meaning of this?” exclaimed Petrice, who had adjusted her face from shock to indignation immediately. “How dare you burst in like this?”

Meredith pointed a finger disrespectfully at Caitlyn as if casting a curse. “You!” she roared. “Where is she?”

“What are you raving about?” Caitlyn spat, her heart thumping. “You need to cut back on the lyrium. It doesn’t agree with you.”

“Oh, if you weren’t the Viscountess of Kirkwall, I’d take you down right here,” seethed Meredith.

“Knight-Commander!” exclaimed Petrice.

At the same time, though her heart was pounding loudly enough from nervousness that she could hear it inside her ear canals, Caitlyn snarled back, “That didn’t stop you from deposing Perrin Threnhold. You are begging for a duel, and I’m _more_ than happy to oblige if you don’t explain yourself.”

“Where is the elf?” demanded Meredith, the vein in her head pulsing. “I know you and your friends got her out of the Circle last night. Where is she?”

“Oh, so that’s where Merrill was?” Caitlyn said coolly. “We were worried about her, clearly with very good reason.”

“Don’t play innocent with me! I know you and your friends did it, probably also your apostate husband. Who helped you?”

Caitlyn drew herself up imperiously and glared at the Templar, holding her staff in a defiant gesture. “There is a wide network of people who get mages out of the Circle when they are in danger,” she said loftily, “as you know very well. It’s not exactly a secret. And if you had the unmitigated presumption to arrest my friend, a member of the Viscountess’s Small Council, then of course that group would believe that she was in danger due to your hatred of me.”

“You harbored an apostate in your Small Council knowing full well what she was, then!”

“I was raised and taught by an apostate,” snarled Caitlyn, stepping forward menacingly. “I grew up with apostates! I loved another apostate, whom people like you then _took_ from me, and I only got to marry him after he became a Grey Warden. I lived as one myself for years! My friend is Dalish-trained and has no reason to be locked up in the Gallows, any more than the Arcane Guard or designated Healers do!”

“She is _not_ a guard or a Healer,” sneered Meredith.

“She was serving man by advising the Viscountess about the situation of the elves of Kirkwall,” put in Petrice.

“So you were in on this too?” snapped the Knight-Commander. “I should have known.”

“This is _not_ why Her Grace came to see me this morning, and she has made it very plain that she does not know where the young elf is. I advise you to leave my office before I call the guards.”

“I know you were part of this,” Meredith warned Caitlyn, finally turning on her heels in fury. “I can’t prove it yet, but mark my words, I _will_ get to the bottom of this. Every Templar who was on duty in the Circle last night will be questioned. Consider _that,_ mage! Whoever helped you, whatever traitors in the Templar Order abjured their holy duties to smuggle the elf out, they will pay the price for it!” With that, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Petrice waited until she had had enough time to leave the Chantry before saying, still keeping her voice low, “So your friend was upset on behalf of her old clan, I take it, and got herself caught, in her carelessness from this distress.”

Caitlyn glared at her. “Even if she is not one of them anymore, they are the people she spent much of her life with. Of course she was sympathetic to them. And Meredith has been after her for quite some time.”

“That is unfortunate, because she will have to live in hiding so long as Meredith is in power. And I do hope that the Templars who were involved in the escape are not found out, because Meredith will execute them if one of them does give up the others.”

Caitlyn winced. “I’m sure they wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t have the right to torture them, though, does she?”

“No. Not Templars. But when does not having the right to do something stop her from doing it anyway?”

* * *

Caitlyn had to make sure that she was hooded, her identity well-concealed, when she entered the Hanged Man; otherwise she would be mobbed. She missed the days in which she could just duck into the pub and have a round with her friends without having to hide her face, but those days were gone now. Sighing, she went upstairs to Varric’s room, knocked in code, and let herself in when he admitted her.

Merrill was in the large room with him, a separate bed pulled into the place and most of her remaining possessions piled into a heap near it. They had put up a privacy screen between her little corner and Varric’s area. She was no longer wearing the Chantry robes; she had put on some of her Dalish clothing once more, but she still looked utterly wretched and miserable. When Caitlyn sat down in an empty chair, she gazed at her, eyes wide and sad.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Merrill said in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have said what I did at the last, to you or to Anders.”

Caitlyn wanted to hug her, but she did not dare do it herself, choosing to let Merrill decide when she was comfortable with that. “It’s all right,” she said instead. She gazed compassionately at her friend. “You weren’t wrong about a lot of it.”

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at him. It was not his fault, and the situations are not identical. His Justice”—Caitlyn noticed the use of the spirit’s original name this time, rather than its demon name—“is cloudy and ambiguous, but does have a good side, a spirit side. Audacity was nothing but a demon.”

“Was that what it came to call itself?” she said gently.

She nodded. “It was grown well beyond pride. The poor Keeper... I cannot believe she’s gone. She gave her life for me, and she didn’t have to. I shouldn’t have turned to the demon. It wasn’t the only way.” Merrill began to cry into her open palms. “I _should_ have trusted that you would get me out, but I was so afraid....”

“It’s a horrible place,” Caitlyn said. “You weren’t wrong to be afraid... but we _did_ plan how to get you out as soon as we learned what had happened.”

Merrill sobbed.

“You also weren’t wrong about what you said to me,” she continued, feeling ashamed. “I _did_ write a loose, permissive treaty in order to appease the Grand Cleric, whom I needed on my side, and because I didn’t understand the point of view of your people and didn’t ask you about it first. I’m sorry. I talked with her about it this morning, and she agreed to tell her people to treat your clan better—to change the things that offended the clan so much.”

Merrill hiccuped as she tried to stop crying. “I know that you didn’t do it on purpose to harm them. I know you meant well. Maybe this is the only way it can work.”

“I never wanted to harm them,” Caitlyn said, compassion filling her words. “But I asked them to compromise too much, and so this morning, I made arrangements for the Chantry folk to compromise as well.” She sighed heavily. “I hope it _can_ work with these revisions. I don’t know. I wanted to protect them rather than to make them vulnerable. I hope it’s not impossible to do that, that conflict is not the only possible outcome in cases like these.”

“I do not know. The Keeper... she was so wise. _She_ understood. She understood your viewpoint and reasoning... and she is gone now. The new Keeper is someone they have known for only half a year. How can we assume he will be as wise as she was?” A tear trickled down her face at what she had lost, the chance to be the Keeper herself. “But then... he was a mage of that Circle, and his wife was of the alienage. That might help him to understand your reasons too, and to calm the clan rather than lashing out.” She wrapped her arms around her sides, swaying slightly. “They gave the Keeper a Dalish burial and planted a tree over her. They... were not happy to see me, carrying her body... but they paid their respects to her. They did far better by her than I did,” she choked out. “It’s my fault that she died, not yours. I am sorry for saying that to you last night.” She raised her gaze to Caitlyn’s face. “Will you be my friend again? I know I don’t deserve it....”

That was too much. Caitlyn cried out in dismay, wanting to hug Merrill. “Don’t say that! That’s not true at all! We both made mistakes... but we’ve acknowledged them, and we’re going to try to do better now. That’s no reason to think you don’t deserve to be my friend!” She gazed at Merrill pleadingly. “I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me.”

Merrill let out a whimper, but an affirmative one. She finally closed the distance between them, allowing Caitlyn to hug her. Varric eased into the background, smiling contentedly at his writing desk.

At last the two women broke apart and faced each other. “We need to think about your safety,” Caitlyn said, her tone very serious now. “If Meredith finds you again, it will be horrible. She was acting literally insane with rage this morning. I’ve never seen anything like it, even from her.”

Merrill sighed heavily, looking unhappy again. “I suppose I should not go back to the alienage house.”

“Probably not. And I’m not sure how safe this room actually is, either. The Hanged Man gets a lot of traffic, and not all of it is friendly.”

Varric spoke up again. “I was thinking about that too. I haven’t wanted to live there, for all sorts of reasons, but I _do_ own a Hightown house, and perhaps I should finally suck it up and move in.”

Merrill glanced down. “I don’t know what Carver would think of that....”

“If Carver doesn’t trust your word that you are just sheltering in a very large house with a close friend whom we _all_ know, then he doesn’t deserve you, even though he _is_ my brother,” Caitlyn said firmly. “But if _you_ aren’t comfortable with it—for reasons that aren’t related to him—then I’m sure you could live with my mother and family. Or you could go to the Keep.”

Merrill considered. “I think I would rather live with your mother. It is nothing to do with you, Varric—but I met your cousin, Caitlyn. She is an interesting person and seemed to like me. She also knows people in this... group... with a very peculiar name, Red something, and some of them are elves. I could still help the elves by working with them.”

Caitlyn managed a smile. “We’ll do that, then. I’m so glad that you’re safe, Merrill—and I never want you to be in danger again.”

* * *

She was nervous about getting in touch with Thrask too soon after the escape, but she _was_ worried about what Meredith might have done to the good Templars to find out who had assisted Merrill. Before leaving the pub, she arranged for a covert meeting in Hightown via Varric. Thrask was looking very grim and serious when they did meet.

Caitlyn lowered her hood, unnerved at once by the expression on his face. “What happened?” she said, her heart pounding, afraid of what she might hear. “Please tell me that Meredith didn’t—”

“She didn’t put anyone to death,” Thrask assured her at once, “but she wants to. She does have an idea of who the most mage-sympathetic Templars are, unfortunately.”

“What did she do? If you don’t mind... if it isn’t too much....”

“She selected three of the youngest of that group, my group, and horse-whipped them for ‘letting the mage escape.’ Their backs were bloodied.” Caitlyn gasped, covering her mouth, as he continued. “She forbade them from seeing Healers, saying that they needed to feel the punishment for their sin of sloth—or ‘perhaps an even worse sin,’ she said—but the mages slipped them elfroot, and it helps.” He sighed. “No one in my group seems inclined to give up the others, at least. They still believe in what they are doing and know that this is a risk that they assume... and I also think they realize that Meredith would likely execute the tattletale in addition to the others. She is... not inclined toward rewarding a minor display of loyalty, Your Grace.”

“I think I finally understand what you meant before when you said that her behavior actually disturbed you. What I saw this morning... well, even for her, it was bad. Take care of each other,” Caitlyn urged him. “You’re doing the right thing, and you are not alone. Your suffering, your hard work, matters. You have friends. Don’t let her get to you.”

* * *

When Caitlyn finally returned home to the Keep, she was feeling tired again. She realized that she had not gotten enough sleep the previous night, especially considering how much she had done the day before and this day. _At least I have a chance now of relaxing,_ she thought as the guards stepped aside and she walked inside the outer Keep.

“You have guests,” said Ser Donnic, a mild smile on his face.

“Oh?” she repeated, feeling a slight headache coming on at the thought that she still had to do something for someone. “Who?”

“The Selbrechs,” he said. “They brought their daughter. She is almost exactly of an age with your son, and apparently they have spent the afternoon playing with the animals.”

Caitlyn was very surprised, and she hoped that Mal had not decided to show off for his new friend that he could do magic. Surely Anders would have told him to be careful. She hurried inside the inner Keep and into the large family room, where Anders was watching Mal and a brown-haired little girl play tug with Baldwin. Pounce was sitting on his lap with a look of disdain on his feline face, and across the room, Ser Marlein and her husband were also seated. They rose when Caitlyn entered the room.

“Mother!” exclaimed Mal, dropping the dog toy, a dowel with a thick string and a ball of rags at the end. “This is Antonia!” He beamed at the girl, who was still entranced with the mabari. “Can she visit again? We had fun!”

Caitlyn laughed and bade her guests sit, as she did as well. “Of course! I’m so glad that you have made a friend.”

Ser Marlein spoke up. “We came to tell Your Grace that the Margrave of Markham, a distant cousin of mine, is becoming interested in an alliance with Kirkwall.”

“Is that official?” Caitlyn said, surprised. “That’s great news! We have had a rough time of it lately. This is a good change!”

“It’s not official yet, but the word through my family ‘grapevine’ is that he is very concerned about what may happen to his city and his University if revanchism wins out in the Chantry,” she said. “Markham is a very civilized, cultured place, and retrograde people always come for the learned eventually. He knows that... but at the moment, I think he is equally frightened of the fact that you are a mage and he doesn’t want to be seen as extending the hand first. I would recommend that you invite them to send an envoy... or send one of your own. I would volunteer for that, of course....”

“Of course,” she agreed at once. She gazed at the children with a pang. “I have to say, though, that my son is not a trading piece. My mother chose, I chose, and I want him to have the chance to choose. And if Anders and I ever have more children, that holds for them too. Besides, by blood, Mal is only a quarter Kirkwaller. You know how provincial this city can be. Politically... well....” She trailed off, not wanting to think of her child all grown up and old enough to marry. _It won’t be for at least ten years,_ she thought, sharing a pained look with Anders.

Ser Marlein suppressed a knowing smile at the sight of the children playing. “I understand. When the time comes, you want him—and any other children you may have—to choose someone they know and like, which will mean someone from Kirkwall, and that is also the wise thing to do politically. Besides, the Margrave only has a son too... and, no offense, most foreign heads of state would be leery of the fact that both of you are mages. They probably only would consider him when he is older—if he doesn’t show magic by then.”

Anders and Caitlyn exchanged a glance so quick that no one else noticed. _At least his being a mage is good for something,_ she thought in that instant.

“But the positive side is that I think you will get to give your children the freedom you want them to have,” she said with a smile. “I think I could discuss it with de Launcet, if you don’t object. He really hoped to find Orlesian matches for his daughters, and apparently he told them that he would get noble husbands for them with manors in Val Royeaux—but then came back empty-handed. _That_ was a part of why he was disappointed. He knew he would have to face their wrath and tears.”

“Oh, for....” Caitlyn almost burst out laughing. “Between the four of us adults in this room, I pity any man who has to put up with either of them! But I don’t object if the de Launcets don’t!”

* * *

_Finally_ Caitlyn was able to settle down for the night. Anders had hoped that she would feel energetic enough for lovemaking, because he was feeling very affectionate and tender toward her after needing to comfort her that morning, but it became apparent very quickly that she was not up to it. He swallowed his disappointment and focused on cuddling and holding her close.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she let him pull her next to him, suppressing a yawn as his arms wrapped around her. “You wanted....”

“Only if you will enjoy it,” he said. He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes briefly for it, and caressed her scalp, fingers threading through her silky red hair. “But you look exhausted.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night, and then you had to work hard today as well. Rest, love. We’ll have other times.”

A faint, sleepy smile formed on her face as he stroked her hair gently.

* * *

Caitlyn girded herself for an unceasing stream of tumult, based on Meredith Stannard’s outrageous reaction to Merrill’s escape, the recent events involving the attack on the clinic and the vicious retaliation upon innocent Templars, the tensions with the Dalish, the disappearance of Mettin’s mob, and the brewing foreign conflict—which, she reluctantly and dourly had to agree with Anders, was starting to look very much like the prelude to war. But she was wrong. In the coming weeks and months, most of these situations instead entered an uneasy peace.

Merrill seemed to settle in at her new home reasonably well. Caitlyn was not entirely reassured that Meredith would never demand to search the Amell house, but for now, it was as safe as anywhere could be for Merrill. Charade—whose “group” was called Friends of Red Jenny, for some reason—had indeed become friends with Merrill, and whatever the “Red Jennies” actually did, Charade had apparently learned quite a lot about subterfuge from them. She was able to get Merrill to and from frequent meetings with the alienage hahren to discuss goings-on in the neighborhood. Although Merrill was not confident enough to openly rejoin the Small Council—and Caitlyn did not want to endanger her either—it was at least an excellent way to keep Caitlyn informed of the elves’ specific concerns. Merrill was still not wholly happy or content with this task, which had little to nothing to do with bringing back Dalish traditions, but Caitlyn hoped that she would eventually find her peace.

“I get through each day, and that’s enough at the time,” Merrill explained to her and Anders one night that autumn. She sighed. “And days add up.”

They shared a knowing, sympathetic look before turning back to her. “That’s all any of us can do,” said Anders.

To Caitlyn’s absolute astonishment, the Chantry folk actually left the Sundermount after two months of failure to convert any of the Dalish to their religion. The lead priest, the very one who had given the Chantry’s side of the initial conflict to Caitlyn that dark day, had led the group back into Kirkwall with a resigned, aloof look on her face. “We cannot _force_ them to accept the Maker and Andraste,” she said to Caitlyn upon her return with an air of washing her hands of the matter. “If they refuse to hear us, our presence does no good and only hardens them against the Maker. Between us, Viscountess Hawke, we are quite sure that this new Keeper _is_ a former Circle mage, but perhaps that will work in the Maker’s favor. He works in mysterious ways, and a mage can certainly be His instrument, as you know well. We left copies of the Chant of Light and the encyclicals of some of the Divines. If they use them for kindling, they are the ones who will have to answer to the Maker for the desecration.”

It was something, at least. _However long this truce lasts,_ Caitlyn thought after the priest made her report, _it has brought peace for the time being._

Following this, Varric brought more good news to the Small Council. “The word on the street is that the trouble early in our Hawke’s reign was actually the fault of Mettin, Meredith, Elthina, and their mob,” he reported.

“Which it was,” said Anders at once, glowering at the tabletop.

“We know that, but many people would have blamed it on the fact that she was a mage. ‘See, mages aren’t meant to rule and this is a judgment upon us!’ But now, people are saying that if Hawke is just left well enough alone to do her duty, life in Kirkwall is... _normal._ And by that they appear to mean what it was like before the Qunari even arrived.”

“That’s excellent news,” Caitlyn exclaimed. “I was getting worried for a while that I would have to fight insurrection attempts all the time, and people do weary of the constant threat of violence and turbulence, whoever is to blame for it.”

“I am glad of the peace, but I don’t trust it,” said Anders with an apologetic look at her. “Where _are_ Mettin and his followers? They didn’t die... unfortunately,” he muttered. “They went somewhere. Where, and what are they plotting? And why haven’t we heard anything about Meredith’s activities since... the incident with Merrill?”

Caitlyn stared ahead, wishing that he had not brought this up... _but on the other hand,_ she thought, _he is right that this won’t disappear just because we want it to._ “Most likely, they went to Starkhaven, Tantervale, or Hercinia,” she said. “Who else would accept them?”

“And that’s the problem. If they went to any of those places, I doubt they did it to seek sanctuary and live in peace. They are plotting something.”

“If they come back to Kirkwall with _any_ arms, armor, or additional numbers from those cities, I am taking it as an act of war,” Caitlyn said firmly. She gazed out at the Small Council. “And I presume that Sebastian, Elthina, the Grand Clerics, and the puppet lord Chancellor of Tantervale are intelligent enough to understand that.”

“Which means that if they do come back, it probably won’t be with any open, visible evidence of foreign backing,” pointed out Aveline.

“They are not welcome here either way. There is still an arrest warrant for Mettin. His mob can, unfortunately, insinuate themselves into the general population, but fanatics cannot keep their mouths shut, and they will make their presence known inevitably. I won’t tolerate a resurgence. They had better stay wherever they are!”

* * *

One thing did become unfortunately clear soon after that. It had taken a couple of months, but at last, as Satinalia approached, a blistering broadsheet making its way through the Free Marches, Antiva, Rivain, Nevarra, and all the way to the Anderfels reached Kirkwall—a document written by the self-styled “Grand Cleric in Exile of Kirkwall, Elthina” and signed by the secular rulers of the three allied Marcher cities. Notably, it did not include signatures of the official Grand Clerics, who might finally rouse Divine Justinia to anger by declaring their endorsement of a person whom the Divine had cast out of the priesthood, but there was no doubt in Caitlyn’s or Anders’ mind that they supported the message and the messenger.

 

_We, the undersigned Alliance of the Faithful, hereby declare before our Maker and all of His people our supreme and holy disapproval of the so-called Viscountess of Kirkwall, Caitlyn Hawke, an apostate mage, heretic, and usurper. She defies the Chant of Light and our Prophet’s proscription on mage rule by her occupancy of the Kirkwall Keep, but unfortunately this is not the only offense we charge to her or her allies._

_With the aid and collaboration of the current so-called Grand Cleric of Kirkwall, Petrice Durand of Orlais, and without consulting first with the Divine, Hawke has set mages loose among the people in Kirkwall, resulting in a shocking act of violence in the Keep itself._

_Hawke’s husband, the former Grey Warden mage Anders, used magic to put Templars to death, accusing them of crimes without evidence. Hawke upheld these actions before the Knight-Vigilant and a Seeker._

_The so-called Viscountess is, as a lifelong apostate herself, also an unrepentant shelterer of other apostates, beginning with the mage Anders in Dragon 9:27, who got her with child out of wedlock during an unlawful escape from the Fereldan Circle of Magi. More recently she is suspected of helping a Dalish elf heretic unlawfully escape Kirkwall’s Circle._

_We, the Alliance of the Faithful, condemn these irreligious and wicked actions. We fear that the Maker may lift His hand of protection from Kirkwall for its support of this magisterial Viscountess, and we further fear that the free city risks becoming a viper’s nest of heresy if it does not change its course. We pray that the people of Kirkwall remember their duty to their Maker, Prophet, and true Chantry._

 

“This is a call for the people of Kirkwall to oust me,” Caitlyn said when she and Anders learned about the broadsheet. “And—look at this! Meredith is corresponding with Elthina, beyond any doubt. There is no other way that Elthina could know about Merrill.”

“You’re right,” Anders said. “Obviously.” He closed his eyes momentarily, thinking. _Is it time to do something about my list of enemies?_ he wondered. _Or would that just be the spark that ignites war? But this is a trio of foreign leaders and an exiled traitor calling, not very subtly, for an insurrection to overthrow her—to kill her, my beloved wife and partner, and probably our son too. This itself is arguably an act of war._

“I don’t know what to do about it,” Caitlyn confessed. “The Grand Clerics of those cities did not sign it, but I would bet my life that they back it. They are playing a clever game, when you think about it. If we attack first, we are the aggressors. But this language is bellicose. They are trying to start a war without actually striking the first blow.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “But if we _don’t_ strike first, they might. And I... I can’t bear thinking of that.” He winced, suddenly looking very vulnerable. “That assassin bombed the clinic, almost killing all of us. Meredith captured Merrill. They will try to attack you again. They might even target Mal. He’s just a child,” Anders said, his voice cracking. “He’s an innocent child... but he is the child of mages, and that’s all that these horrid people care about. I can’t stand to think of losing you, either of you. I don’t care about myself—”

“I do, though! So you’d better care about yourself, for me!” she exclaimed.

He managed a weak smile. “You have a point. They will target all of us, and all it takes is one successful attempt. Just one. Maybe we _should_ strike first.”

She turned aside, closing her eyes, wincing. What was the best thing to do? Were they _ready_ for a war? They had allies in Ferelden and Markham now, but they did not yet have the critical Minanter-controlling alliance that they would need to truly cripple Starkhaven and Tantervale. _And Kirkwall could barely defend itself against the Qunari,_ she thought miserably. _How could we muster the soldiers to fight a war? We have a City Guard. Thrask might lead some Templars to fight for us, but most of them will side with the enemy, based on Anders’ list. We’ll be fighting armed, trained warriors inside our own walls. Ferelden has a standing army, but are we really going to ask Ferelden to do it for us, so soon after their own war and the Blight? Would Divine Justinia finally declare an Exalted March to support us... or would that not be politically possible if Kirkwall attacked first?_

“We can’t fight this war yet,” she finally said, misery in her words. “There are enemies inside the gates, Anders. Meredith has a force of enemy soldiers in the Gallows. And if we attack first, Justinia probably will not be able to send an Exalted March in our defense. Unless we can get the entire Circle and probably quite a lot of the apostates to fight, I don’t see how we win right now without a standing army backing us, and without Justinia, that leaves the Fereldans. And the treaty I have with them does not require them to fight for us in a war of aggression.”

He set down the broadsheet on the table and embraced her unhappily. “What are you going to do, then?” he croaked. That list of names nagged at him... crossing off those names would at least eliminate the enemy threat within....

She took a shuddering breath. “I’m going to make utterly sure our security at the Keep is as good as it can be, magically and physically. I’m going to ask Varric and everyone to keep their ears to the ground for rumors of Mettin’s group returning to town. _That_ is what I fear most, that they will sneak back in.”

Anders shuddered. “I’ll help you make the wards stronger. Maker—if anything happened to you or Mal, if she even tried, I would start the war myself.”

She held him tightly. “I would do the same.”

* * *

As Dragon 9:35 grew cool and the year approached its end, news and rumors from abroad continued to reach Kirkwall. Fenris and Isabela sent another letter—this one from the seas off Tevinter, where they were still hunting for Fenris’s former master to exact revenge. They meant to return to Kirkwall sometime the following year, Isabela wrote.

One day, when the leaves had turned brown and the air now carried a sharp chill, a dwarven merchant who had come from Ferelden to trade with the Merchant’s Guild bore a bit of gossip from the old country: Ferelden might have its heir after all. Although the Crown would not confirm or deny it this early, Queen Anora was rumored to be two months gone with child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’ll just leave you with that.


	21. Like To Think We Can Cheat It All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is “Carry On” by Fun.
> 
> I have to say, it’s hard to write a story that is about extremism, a failing political system, and political violence when that is what is happening increasingly frequently in my own country and elsewhere in the world. Part of the reason I wanted to do this was to have a creative outlet for my troubled feelings about how to deal with political situations that are inexorably leading to conflict, but I’m not really sure it’s helping in that respect. I guess at least it feeds the creative spark and adds a small bit of art to the world.
> 
> This chapter is about one subject, despite its length, but it is a subject of extreme importance to Caitlyn and Anders, so I think it’s all right to devote this much page space to it.
> 
> Finally, there is a NSFW scene in the middle!

Neither Caitlyn nor Anders dared say a word to each other about the implication of the rumor from Ferelden. It might not be true, in the first place; Anora might just be unwell and eager people could have made an unsupported leap. If she was indeed pregnant, there was also the possibility that the child would not make it, especially if—Caitlyn finally allowed herself to think—she had only conceived because of an experimental treatment for Warden infertility.

If there was a child, it was Alistair’s; of that Caitlyn was sure. Having met them, Caitlyn greatly doubted that the Queen would have an affair. They did not seem nearly as affectionate as she and Anders were, but they did seem fond enough of each other and got along well—and an adulterous affair would expose the Queen to blackmail, to boot, and she was far too smart to make herself vulnerable like that. Caitlyn had also learned more about the politics of the Fereldan Crown prior to the Blight. Some nobles had believed that Anora was barren, but the Queen herself later said that it was more likely to be her first husband, Cailan, who was sterile, since he had definitely _not_ honored his marriage vows but had not even sired any royal bastards. If Anora were the sort to present a cuckoo’s egg as a child of the King, then her first marriage would have been the time to do it, when she was not wed to a King who was a Grey Warden and would suspect immediately. If the rumor was true, then there was a cure. They would just have to wait to find out if the rumor were true.

When they were alone that evening, Anders said to her, “I doubt that the Warden-Commander of Ferelden will confirm... anything... before the Crown does.” He was not looking at her when he spoke, as if fearful of jinxing it.

Caitlyn agreed. “No, I’m sure she won’t,” she said, “not if it’s true, anyway. If it’s _false,_ perhaps... but we’ll find that out ourselves soon enough if it is. Let’s just wait.”

They seemed to agree by mutual, unspoken consent not to have a discussion yet about _whether_ they should try for a second child, given the amount of turmoil that they feared in the future—and the fact that Mal was soon going to be vulnerable to suspicion. He would be eight in a couple of months. That was still young enough that people would not _assume_ he had shown magic, but it felt like the calendar was advancing far faster than Caitlyn or Anders wanted to accept. They knew that if the Fereldan rumor turned out to be true, and their own hopes of over four years could be fulfilled after all, the question remained as to whether they _should_ have another child who would probably be a mage.

* * *

Dragon 9:35 advanced toward its end in a flurry of cold and snow that extended even farther north than Kirkwall. The city was no stranger to snow, but snow in Haring was a bit unusual there, unlike in southern Ferelden. With the blast of winter came a flurry of something else: couriers and traders who sought shelter from the unexpected chill. One brought messages to the Keep from Ferelden: a pair of letters from the Grey Wardens and an official document with the royal seal.

Caitlyn and Anders knew at once what word had come to them. As soon as they dismissed the courier to a guest room in the outer Keep, they tore into their letters with a zeal that was a mix of excitement and dread.

Caitlyn’s message from the Fereldan Crown was a fine parchment filled with decorative flourishes and illuminations, announcing the expected birth of a royal child in 9:36 Bloomingtide. The document did not announce whether they expected a prince or a princess; evidently they did not have a mage royal Healer who could tell them—or did not choose to proclaim it if they did know. She set down the parchment, her breath suddenly short, and gazed at Anders, who was still reading his letters.

He set aside the first one and picked up the second anxiously. His gaze darted quickly from line to line. In a few seconds, he set this one down too and took a deep, shaky breath. He gazed at her, eyes wide.

“It’s not just the Fereldan Crown,” he managed. “The Teyrna of Gwaren is married to a Warden too and she’s also with child. _Maker,”_ he swore, momentarily overcome. “I didn’t really believe... I had lost hope... but it’s real. It is _real,_ love. The second letter is from the head Warden mage of Ferelden... it’s Finn Aldebrant, the one who annoyed me in the Circle, but I can’t hate the bearer of... good news. He sent the recipe and instructions.”

“The first letter is from Lady Cousland, then? Sent separately?” Caitlyn asked. His thoughts seemed to be jumbled, or at least, his ability to vocalize them, and she wanted to help him order his thoughts so that they could have this discussion at last.

He closed his eyes, organizing his mind, and nodded. “It was from her. It seems that there are three Warden posts in Ferelden now. Her letter is from Vigil’s Keep, but the other is from Soldier’s Peak, where most of the mages are... and there is apparently a third located in Gwaren now, led by Loghain. I guess he wanted to be with his... new... family.” Anders breathed deeply again. “They’ve done it. It was that blood mage in Soldier’s Peak and the mages who decided to do research with him, but _this_ isn’t blood magic. It is just a mix of ingredients and two spells that they invented.” He passed her the letter containing the instructions.

Caitlyn read it, her heart thumping. Indeed, the recipe called for a series of herbal ingredients, and a Warden mage had to make it, but there was nothing dubious in it. “This Warden says that this is only shown to work on men,” she said, her lips curling slightly. “They are still developing a cure for women.”

Anders gazed wryly at her. “Well, test material from men is so much easier to get.” He winked suggestively.

She glowered, raising her hand, small flames on each of her fingertips. He tried to back away, but she was too quick. In a flash, her burning hand was touching the side of his face, eliciting a yelp from him. She laughed as he took her wrist in hand and held it tightly, pulling it away from his head.

“All right,” she chuckled, allowing her magic to subside, “I guess we have a decision to make.”

He stroked her hand, which he still held, caressing the palm and the top with gentle motions, as he gazed ahead. He was not looking at her.

“Anders,” she said, reaching with her free hand to turn his head to face her.

When he finally was able to speak, his voice was much weaker and more uncertain now. “I have wanted this,” he said. “It isn’t only because I missed Mal’s earliest years, though that does make me want it even more. In Lothering, I dreamed of... of having more children with you. But... now that we actually have the chance... now that it is a real possibility and not an impossible hope, I don’t know. Is it wise?” He looked terribly unsure. “Things look more hopeful for mages than they did nine years ago, but for us _personally,_ there could be a lot of trouble ahead. I don’t know anymore....” He trailed off.

She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning against his shoulder, letting him release her hand and give her a hug instead. She tried to make sense of the mix of thoughts that she was experiencing herself.

At last she felt able to speak. “I wanted that too in Lothering,” she said. “I always had an... ambitious side... but for years, after I learned I was a mage, I didn’t let myself think about that part of me, because it didn’t seem that I could ever satisfy it. I thought that the most I could have was a life like my parents’, and that was all right. I could see that they were happy and loved each other and their children so much. I _wanted_ what they had.” She clung to him. “When I fell for you, and especially when we learned about Mal, I knew that I wanted it with you.”

“Darling,” he whispered, unable to say anything cohesive, but he realized that they both needed comfort and tenderness right now. They needed to talk it out together.

“My father would have taught you how to farm and trained us to take it over when he and Mother became too old. I probably always would have wondered what I could have been in another life, but I would have had you, Mal would have had several little siblings, my parents and _both_ of my siblings would have been there.... We would’ve been so happy....”

He held her tightly. Every now and then, she said something like this, and he sensed that some part of it was guilt for what had happened to him—what he had missed—even though it was not her fault. “I don’t want you to think you must do this so that I can have the experiences at last,” he said, “and especially since... well... when Merrill was captured, it made me realize some things. If, Maker forbid, Meredith took Mal....”

“We said we would not allow it,” Caitlyn protested.

“But if she did, of course we would get him out—and then what?” he said. “We couldn’t conceal that. And given that we are both mages, the odds are in favor of all of our children having magic. From what I have seen—and read of Tevinter—it is basically a coin flip if one parent is a mage and very probable if both are, especially if at least one has it in prior generations—as you do. I don’t know about my family history, but you obviously do.”

“On both sides.”

He nodded. “And so long as Meredith—or someone like her—runs the Templars here, so long as the Circles still claim the right to take children from their parents, even if the parents could hire a mage teacher, even if the parents _are_ mages, then it’s a danger to our family. Mal already faces it.”

Caitlyn thought about what he was saying, but she did not have to do so for very long. “Exactly,” she said. “He already faces it. We know for a fact that he is a mage, and he is soon going to be old enough that other people will start to ask questions too. He is about eight; I showed magic at nine. You were a little older, but people _will_ start to ask soon. _He_ is the child at risk immediately, not a baby who doesn’t even exist yet. There is no reason not to try for a second child if that’s the risk. He is the one in immediate danger. Having another child does not change the danger to him.”

“But we don’t know how long Meredith will remain in power. If she comes after Mal in a couple of years, and we have another child who is barely old enough to talk, that child is yet another extremely vulnerable target for her. Mal is already at risk. Do we want to have another vulnerable, innocent child who will also be at risk? For my part....” His expression hardened. “I would cut her down violently before I let her threaten our children. Even if it ignited a war. But... is it right to have another one, who would be little more than a baby when it happened, if we _know_ that it might come to that?”

Caitlyn stared ahead for a moment. Would it come to that at last? As much as she did not want to think about it, she finally had to accept the fact that it might. Justinia was the one who had to get rid of Meredith if it were to be done peacefully. Justinia was the one who had to make the kinds of changes that she and Anders wanted made. Justinia would have to order changes that would not just let Circle mages see their families occasionally, but would give parents the right to have their mage children taught entirely outside the Circles if they chose. Justinia would have to allow any mage the right to live a normal life in the world, rather than having that right contingent on being in service to the state in some manner. They could try such reforms for Kirkwall if the Grand Cleric went along and Caitlyn successfully menaced Orsino into taking their side, but the reforms would be immediately challenged by the reactionaries in the north, and Divine Justinia would have to affirm or revoke them at last. She held the cards—but it appeared, increasingly, that she did not want to play them any time soon, either to order reforms or to get rid of Meredith Stannard. Maybe she meant to reform the Circles in the longer term, and for that to be her great project, the legacy and culmination of her service as Divine, but time for Caitlyn’s and Anders’ firstborn was about to run out—and neither of them knew how long Justinia meant to take. _I am almost twenty-nine,_ thought Caitlyn, _and it has been eight years since his birth. If I wait eight more, it will be tougher to conceive, and Mal will be so very much older than his sibling if I do at all._

“I would do the same thing,” Caitlyn finally said to him. “Even if it meant war. Some things are worth fighting for—and this was my first promise, to protect our family, no matter what.” It felt like a prediction of doom, but it needed to be said—and she felt stronger, bolder, and somehow purer and cleaner for saying it. It was as if the cloud of political machinations and tough compromises in which she had been shrouded for months suddenly lifted at these words.

An expression of awe, admiration, and love bloomed on Anders’ face. It was not a smile, exactly, and she realized it would have been inappropriate for it to have been, but it was nonetheless an expression that set her heart aflutter and hardened her own resolve. “And I will not let the fear of Meredith Stannard or anyone like her control how many more children _we_ choose to have. I say enough,” she added. “I want this too, Anders. Yes, I do want you to experience it at last, after it was taken from you before—but _I_ want it too, and so do you. And I will not let fear of _her_ keep us from it if we both want it.”

His breath became short as he pulled her close. “You’re magnificent,” he murmured, caressing her sides, rubbing the small of her back through her gown. “Just listening to you say that, your strength and resolve... Maker.”

“I want this,” she repeated, letting him kiss her on the tender spot where her neck met her jaw. “I want to feel your child, _our_ child, grow and move in me again.”

Anders groaned and pushed her against the sofa, kissing her deeply.

“And I want you to see and feel it too this time. You knew Mal was there, but you never got to see me when I was heavy with him... you never got to feel him kick... he is your _son_ and they took that chance away.” Tears filled her eyes as she caressed his face.

“I always loved him, though,” Anders whispered. “When I was locked away, I never stopped loving both of you and wanting to come back....”

“I know,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder again. “But... this was taken from us, and the chance to have his father with him was taken from him for the first three and a half years of his life. Nothing can undo that... but we have been given another chance now, all three of us. A chance for him to have a little sister or brother like we wanted him to have, and a chance for us to experience what we _should_ have been allowed to experience together with him.” She drew away just enough to gaze at him full in the face. “I don’t want the same kind of person to take that away again because we’re afraid.”

Smiling, he caressed her face and leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

* * *

Mal noticed that his parents seemed unusually happy that evening. “What happened?” he asked eagerly when they ate dinner in the smaller family dining room of the Keep. “Is Uncle Carver visiting us again? You seem happy.”

Caitlyn smiled. “I don’t know when your uncle is visiting us again, but we are indeed happy—though about something else. Mal,” she said, leaning in to gaze seriously at him, “how would you like to have a little brother or sister?”

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “Are you....” he trailed off.

“No,” she said, “not yet—but your father and I think we want to try to have another child. What do you think of that?”

“I... would... but....” His lower jaw trembled for a moment before he gazed down at his lap, wiping his eyes.

Instantly Anders leaped from his chair to crouch beside him, patting his back. “This has nothing to do with you,” he said reassuringly. “You aren’t being replaced, and we’ll still love you just as much. Is that what bothers you?”

He hugged his father back, squeezing Anders tightly enough that it actually surprised him. How could a child grip a grown man that fiercely? But this did not seem to be just an expression of love, Anders realized. Mal seemed... _afraid._ Of what?

He did not have to wonder long. “You were taken away!” Mal exclaimed through frightened sobs. “Wicked Templars _took_ you from Mother and me!” He squeezed Anders even harder. “They’re going to do it again,” he burst out. “The Knight-Commander hates you and Mother and she’s going to do it if Mother has another baby....”

Caitlyn got up from her chair too to join Anders in trying to comfort him. “They _won’t,”_ she said, trying to put confidence into her voice. “Your father is a Grey Warden, and the Grand Cleric said I would never have to go to a Circle. No one will take us from you, Mal.” _You are the one in danger now,_ she thought miserably, but she did not dare tell him that.

But he was an intelligent child, and he did not have to be told. “But she didn’t say that about me,” he whispered. “She didn’t say that I would never go to the Circle.” He gazed at his parents in terror. “If the Knight-Commander hates you, she would hate me because I’m your son! I know she likes to hurt people. I hear the two of you talking about her. She would take me from you and hurt me because of who I am!”

Caitlyn and Anders exchanged wretched glances. Mal was sometimes too perceptive and smart for his own emotional good. Anders held him closely to his chest, then drew away, keeping a firm grip on his shoulders as he gazed into his son’s face. “Mal,” he said, “listen to me very closely.”

The child looked up, trying to suppress his own tremors of fear.

“No Templar is going to take you away from us. If the Knight-Commander or _anyone_ else ever so much as tries, your mother and I will fight them until they are defeated.”

“But... I am a mage,” Mal whispered. “People think that mages have to....”

“Not all people think that,” said Anders, “but I promise you, and I mean this, son—your mother and I would fight anyone in the world who tried to take you away. _Anyone._ No matter who it was. Even if they think they speak for the Maker, they are _wrong._ The Maker gave us our magic. People who would try to take you from us for being born that way are wrong, and your mother and I won’t stand for it.” He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “And we would do the same for any other children we ever have if they are mages too. _Nobody_ will divide this family ever again.”

A few more moments passed, but at last, Mal nodded, loosening his grip on his father. “I would like to have a brother or sister, then. Even if it’s just a baby. Babies grow up.”

_That they do,_ thought Anders, sharing a slightly pained glance with Caitlyn.

“And if you do, and my new sibling is also a mage, then I could help you and Mother teach magic to them!” he added.

“You could,” Anders agreed, rising to his feet beside Caitlyn and ruffling Mal’s hair. He sighed to himself. It was a hopeful promise that by that time, Mal would not have to hide either. _Maybe we’ll make it happen,_ he thought.

* * *

Anders studied the recipe and instructions that night with Caitlyn. Unlike Avernus’s potion that apparently prevented the Calling, this was not a potion that only needed to be taken once. Finn’s letter was very forthright about it, and Anders silently gave thanks for the fact that Healers were often quite open and explicit about medical matters. According to the research that his Warden Healers had conducted on men, the Taint damaged a male Warden’s seed, making it nonviable in almost every instance. The actual reproductive organs themselves were not harmed too greatly, but the fragile sperm were. Since men were constantly producing more, they would need to take this medical potion whenever they were trying to sire a child. Finn had said that it was more urgent to find a cure for male Wardens due to the sensitive political need for the King to have an heir, but that he had hopes that female Wardens would actually be easier to treat—or at least, that they would only need to take the potion once, since they did not produce new eggs. But the potion for men did not work on women, it seemed, so they had to do more research.

The ingredients themselves were easy enough to procure. Anders could get most of them from apothecaries in Kirkwall. One ingredient, royal elfroot, was rare, and he might have to forage for that—or order it from abroad, since this was winter. _Antiva probably has it,_ he thought, _given how common poisoning is there. A powerful healing herb should be easy to find for sale!_ There were also some spells that he would need to cast on himself once he had imbibed the potion. He passed the note to Caitlyn after reading it.

She scanned it quickly, then set it down. “Do you have these things?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’ll have to order one and buy several of the others here.”

“Maker, Anders—we have never _tried_ to have a baby before. Mal was a surprise. In Ferelden, we tried to time our intimate encounters so that I _wouldn’t_ become pregnant!”

“For one month,” he chuckled. “For the second, we were pretty careless.”

She gazed lovingly at him. “I never regretted it, even when I had convinced myself that you had abandoned me.”

He got up and sat down next to her on their bed, embracing her. “I know,” he said. “I know.” He gazed deeply into her green eyes. “I can’t give you another tonight... nor, probably, for at least a month, depending on how long it takes for the ingredient I have to order from abroad to arrive....”

“But we can practice,” she said, smirking. Her right hand found its way to his waist.

He sucked in his breath at the sensation. “We have practiced for over four years here in Kirkwall and another four months in Ferelden,” he replied, smirking back.

“The more, the better.”

“Agreed,” he said, his voice turned into almost a growl now. He breathed heavily, pulling her close in a kiss, before they flung each other down on the mattress in a rush of heat and passion.

* * *

The royal elfroot did take about a month to arrive. They had already held birthday celebrations for Mal and Caitlyn in Wintermarch—and a quiet, private observation of the anniversary of the day that Anders first met her—when the package came to the Keep. Despite the fact that Caitlyn did not think she was at her most fertile right then, Anders made the potion anyway, deciding that it might work better if his body had already received the beneficial effect. Even if the Taint was harder on certain parts of him than others, and even if Justice’s presence and Avernus’s first potion did lessen or eliminate its very worst effects, it still did _something_ to every organ, Anders reasoned—so better to fight that in advance.

A week later, when Caitlyn had higher expectations, he was suddenly nearly overcome with fear as he gazed at the potion vial in his hands. _If this works,_ he thought, _then it will make all of us very happy, but then what? I am a Healer; I can help her through the physical aspects of pregnancy this time, but what do I really know about taking care of a baby? Mal was already a small child when I met him. I won’t know what to do._

_But she will,_ he realized. _She did it, and she didn’t have me there. She had to learn from her mother. I can follow her lead. Maker... I don’t know if she realizes how much this is going to affect her, if this works—what kinds of memories it will stir up again. All of her memories of raising Mal as a baby are tinged with sadness, because I wasn’t there and because she has lost Bethany since then. At the time, she was also afraid that I was dead or Tranquil and angry that I was not with her. All that will be dredged back up. Is she prepared for it? And am I?_

“Darling?” she said, noticing his hesitancy. “Are you all right?”

He gazed at her and nodded. “I’m just thinking about what this will mean if it succeeds. We’ll be happy, but there will be other emotions too, memories of your pregnancy with Mal. It may not be easy.”

She leaned against him. “But we are together now. Whatever we feel, we don’t have to feel it alone this time.”

_Unless one of us does,_ he thought suddenly. In that moment, the horrible memory of the clinic explosion flooded his mind. “Let’s hope,” he whispered.

“What does that mean?” she exclaimed.

He swallowed. “I’m tired of being afraid,” he said, “but I can’t stop feeling fear. It used to be the fear that I would be captured... as I always was, until I became a Warden. For a time it was the fear that I would never see you again. Then it was the fear that Meredith would capture _you,_ then that she would take Mal, and now, it is that fear _and_ the fear that our family will be shattered permanently by violence—that one of us _will_ be alone again. The fear has changed over the years, but it’s always some damn thing.” He scowled, trying to make himself angry to banish the fears, but the attempt felt feeble.

Caitlyn cuddled against him, trying to comfort him physically. “I won’t tell you that you shouldn’t fear those things,” she said. “But we can’t let that sort of fear cripple us from living the life we want. Their goal is to keep mages like us from doing the things that everyone else gets to do if they want to. They have already won if they frighten us out of living the private, personal lives we want to live, Anders.”

He leaned into her embrace, closing his eyes, letting her words wash over him. “You’re right,” he finally said. “As usual.” A wry smile filled his face.

“So... are you over yourself now and ready to prove your renewed virility? Ready, if you will, to get justice for what was taken from us before?”

He chuckled wickedly, feeling better already at these provocative words. “Maybe. The question is, are _you_ ready?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“I think I will.” With a sudden surge of defiant courage, he downed the potion in one gulp. He stared intensely at her, taking in her form, before falling into a rough embrace and tumbling onto his side with her in his arms.

* * *

_Two weeks later._

Caitlyn almost cried in disappointment. Anders’ spell to detect pregnancy had not given a positive result, and he had cautioned her not to get her hopes up that it was wrong, but she realized that she had anyway. Now, though, there was no doubt; she had bloody proof that she was not pregnant. _It’s not fair,_ she thought unhappily. _It worked for two other Grey Wardens. Why not Anders? Could Justice be interfering, rather than enhancing its effect? Not deliberately, of course, but.... Or is it me? I have been injured a lot since I moved to Kirkwall. I practiced blood magic for two years. Could that be the problem?_ She felt awful at that idea and realized that she would have to know.

She told her fears privately to Anders that afternoon, and immediately, he moved to embrace her. “Most people have to try for more than one month,” he said. “We didn’t conceive Mal the very first month either, even though we could have. We started being careful _after_ we realized that we’d had a close call, if I recall correctly.”

“That’s true, but there are still other things that worry me. I used to practice blood magic....”

“I can guarantee this, it is _not_ your past use of blood magic,” he said. “Mages in Tevinter practice it on the sly—and sometimes openly—all the time. If it made it harder for them to have children, I am sure they would know that and it would be a reason to stop doing it.”

She breathed; that was logical, but there was still something else troubling her. “What about injuries, though?” she fretted. “I have been hurt a lot over my years here, and some of the injuries were severe, as you well know.”

“Do you want me to examine you as a Healer?” he said seriously.

She nodded at once. “But only if you will tell me the truth if you find anything wrong.”

“I promise,” he said. He gestured to the nearest sofa, which she promptly lay upon. Anders readied his magic and cast a series of powerful diagnostic spells on her, focusing in particular on her lower abdomen. He knew she needed to be sure, but he doubted that any of her combat injuries had left scars severe enough to prevent her from conceiving. The worst injury she had suffered was the temporary paralysis that Corypheus had given her in 9:32. She had never taken a blade or a deep spell to this area of her body and had never been poisoned; the worst wounds that she had suffered there had been limited to her skin. Anders suspected that the “problem” was either random chance, as many couples experienced, or that the Warden potion really did need to be taken for longer than just a month to have a good chance of working. The Fereldan mage Wardens might have found that the Taint harmed a man’s seed far more than his organs, but that did not mean that there was no damage. He wondered how long it had taken Anora and Cauthrien to become pregnant.

“You are in perfectly fine shape,” he told Caitlyn when his spells passed over her body, revealing nothing amiss. “It’s not you, love. It may not even be me. This happens sometimes.”

She sat upright, breathing heavily and nodding. “I understand.”

* * *

When the same thing happened next month at the end of Guardian, Anders did not know what to tell her. It was not her “fault,” even by the cold logic that assigned causality to one partner or the other by dint of medical reason. He knew from performing spells on himself that his health was not quite as good as hers, but that was not news to him, given the Warden’s Taint. And yet, he was not ready to give up hope so soon. After a “discussion” of sorts with Justice—though it was hard to call it that when they really just shared their thoughts and feelings—he was confident that the spirit was not treating the potion as a toxin, but rather, as the healing mixture that it was. Justice also agreed with Anders—and Caitlyn—that it would be just for their family to have this experience at last, after what had been done to them the first time—the very injustice that had first drawn him to Anders, after all. The spirit’s presence, which Anders could turn to healing effect through his own Spirit Healer knowledge, was a benefit that the other Wardens did not have, and yet, at least two of them had managed to father children. Anders still believed it was just a matter of time.

And yet Caitlyn remained unhappy. It seemed especially tough for her when the Fereldan couriers reported that the Queen and Teyrna were growing heavy, _and_ that Fergus Cousland’s new wife, Alfstanna, had given birth to twins. That couple were not Wardens, and the poor Teyrn had certainly suffered greatly to lose his first wife and young son to a traitor’s attack, but Anders knew that it was hard for Caitlyn to hear the news of people on the other side of the Waking Sea—or in Denerim—experiencing something that she desperately wanted to feel again, but that she still feared she would never get to experience in full with him. He could not blame her. He hoped that she—that _they—_ would not have to wait too much longer, and he _very much_ hoped that the potion would do its job before she received word of births to Fereldan Wardens and their wives. She would definitely have to give gifts to her allies the King and Queen, and it was advisable to give them to Gwaren as well, especially since Cauthrien and Loghain had been skeptical of her—and it might be too much for her if she still was still disappointed herself.

* * *

Two weeks later, early in Drakonis, she realized with resignation that it was apparently her fertility peak again. _How many more months will I go through this?_ Caitlyn thought sadly the evening she had that realization. _We were so hopeful. The spark of hope entered our minds as soon as we heard the rumor, and it was so bright and strong when we received those letters in Haring... and when his ingredients arrived... but it has been two months of failure since then. It may not be “my” failure or “his,” but it is failure. Maker, why? I want this for Anders, for Mal, for us as a couple, and for all of us as a family. I have wanted it for so long. He has too, even if he hasn’t been able to admit it. We have to keep trying, I suppose._

As she got ready for bed, that dutiful resignation filling her, she realized that this moroseness had even begun to affect her thoughts about this most intimate part of her life. That was startling—and distressing. _I am letting this become a task to complete,_ she realized. _An obligation, rather than something to do to express my love, to feel close to him, to fulfill my desires for him and his for me. It is becoming something colder now. Maker’s breath! If I do conceive, I’m sure I will feel renewed closeness to him for that reason... but what if I don’t for another month... or longer?_ The full implication hit her, and she became rapidly resolved. _No. I know that this is happening now in my mind, and I won’t let it go any further. Anders and I have each other. We already have a child of our own, and Anders got to help me raise him after all. As he has said to me many times before, we are a couple and a family. I must not forget that. He has taken his potion, of course, but tonight will be for us._

Thoughts came almost unbidden to her mind, epochal moments of her relationship with him. _Walking back to the little cabin with him in the blowing snow. The first long conversation, in which he confessed his desire to stay. The first kiss. Our first time to make love, as he cast the healing spell to take away the pain of virginity loss so that I could enjoy it even then. The moment that we learned that Mal was growing within me. The first night in Kirkwall after he finally met Mal and told us what had happened to him. The reconciliation on the log before Karl’s pyre. The first kiss and first intimacy in Kirkwall in his Darktown clinic. His proposal, also in bed in the clinic. The moment that he saved Carver’s life. Our wedding day... our reconciliation after the first big fight... the night that we saved Mother... the moment I was crowned Viscountess as he and Mal stood by in support and I knew that they would always be there for me... and, yes, the moment that he stood up and saved all those lives in the Keep clinic, risking his own._ As this series of thoughts passed through her mind, a surge of love and desire for him nearly overpowered her.

It was good timing. Anders entered the room almost immediately after the memories had flooded Caitlyn, shedding his coat and hanging it on the coat rack at the door to their bedchamber. In the warm light of the dwarf-made lamps, he appeared almost glowing—not with spirit light, but with the warmth of health and vigor. He gazed back at her, smiling mildly.

“Come here,” she said, surprised at how throaty her voice sounded. She opened her arms to him. “I need you.”

His eyes widened, but he did not object for one moment. He crossed the room and stood beside her for a second, looking deeply into her eyes, before pulling her to her feet in a crushing kiss. She swayed on her feet for a moment and then pulled him back with her onto the soft mattress, letting him tumble on top of her for a few moments as she fell deeper and deeper into the kisses.

He managed to break away from her, gazing at her with rapidly dilating eyes. “Someone’s in a mood tonight,” he teased, though his voice was husky.

She merely smirked back as they began to peel each other’s clothes off, eager fingers pulling at soft rich fabric that slid off their bodies so smoothly. “What do I have to thank for this?” he continued, once they were in nothing but their smalls. His amber eyes gleamed in the lamplight. “Was it something I did? I want to know so that I’ll know to do it again....”

“Oh, you,” she said, playful exasperation in her tone. “You ‘did it’ by being yourself for all this time.” Her smirk softened to a warm smile. “I was thinking about us before you came in—our most beautiful moments. I can’t help what it did to me,” she added, the teasing returning to her voice at this.

Anders gave her another brief but warm and tender kiss. “So much the better, then,” he purred. He drew back, breaking the kiss, and lowered his gaze to her waist. His hands found the hem of her smalls and pulled them down, as she helped him by drawing up her legs so that he would not have as far to move. He gave her a very intense look, almost a glare, before drawing one hot, dry, smooth hand up her inner thighs. “Holy Maker,” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he reached her core. “You _were_ thinking nice thoughts!”

“All of them about you,” she said, shifting on the bed to feel his nimble fingers slip into her. A moan escaped her as his digits slid into her slippery center. He curled his fingers, a smirk forming on his face, eliciting another, louder groan from her. “Please,” she begged.

He breathed in and out, eyes fixed upon her, while pleasuring her with his hand. Her eyes fluttered closed in bliss, and she began to breathe shallow breaths too, her lips parted just enough. Every few moments she would open her eyes to gaze intensely at him, moving slightly on the bed beneath him, her chest heaving. Finally he felt his smallclothes tighten, and he realized that he could not continue. “I need—” he broke off, withdrawing his hand almost without even knowing.

Caitlyn moaned in complaint for a moment but understood. Immediately she moved her hands to his waist to help him take off his smalls, revealing the very hard erection they had been poorly concealing. She gave him a quick, light stroke, making him cry out and pin her hard to the bed by her shoulders. “I want you too,” he burst out, positioning himself between her legs without any further ado. “I want you for the rest of our lives—no matter what else changes or doesn’t.”

She understood what he meant. He was telling her that it would be all right if they never managed to have a second child, that although that would make them both happier, what they had together and with their firstborn was still enough. She understood, and as he filled her swiftly and thoroughly and they both began to move in their familiar passionate rhythm, she realized that she had decided that herself tonight.

Despite the heat of the moment, they knew now how to make this last for each other. In a minute, Anders was shooting mild but still startling sparks into her, sometimes in time with his motions and sometimes by surprise, and she retaliated with alternately searing hot and shockingly frost-capped fingertips against his back, leaving a trail of meltwater that ran down him in rivulets. It was winter, and the Keep was drafty even with the firewood still glowing orange beneath blackened bark, but they kept each other hot. At last she gasped out her release, legs shaking and stretched, and he clung to her shoulders, head bent, his lower lip between his teeth, trembling from his own. Behind the heavy drapes, they were warm enough that it might have been summer.

He rolled off her, pulling her on top of him down to the waist with one arm, stroking her back with his free hand and sharing languid kisses. “Love you so much,” he murmured.

She sensed that he was dozing off, and to be fair, that _had_ been exhausting. “I love you too,” she whispered.

* * *

Caitlyn did not even ask Anders to perform his detection spell after that. She did not want to change for her memories what that delightful night had been about. It had been a night of love, intimacy, and affection. If anything more resulted from it, that would be wonderful, but she decided to find out for herself when the time came. Anders seemed to realize and agree; he did not offer to do the spell either. They went about their daily lives for the next two weeks—and then Caitlyn waited. And waited. Several more days passed before she finally went to him.

“Four days late?” he mused. “It could be... but do you want me to do the spell to know for sure?” He seemed uncertain, afraid that it would give another negative result and she—they—would again be disappointed.

She realized what he was likely thinking, but at the same time, now that her body was giving her suspicious signals, she did need to know now. _And if it again didn’t happen, we will be disappointed later anyway. The time has come to cast the spell._ “Yes,” she told him, confidence in her words. “It’s better that we know.”

He nodded silently as she sat down in a chair. Smirking, Anders ran his hand up her long skirt. His hand lingered on her left thigh, but only for a moment; now was not the time for that. It was possible to cast the spell through clothing, but in early days, it would be more likely to detect a pregnancy if cast directly against skin.

The spell glowed bright, piercingly blue.

For a moment, neither of them seemed to comprehend what they were seeing. _I have not seen that since Lothering, almost nine years ago to the day,_ Caitlyn thought, feeling somehow detached from her own body at the moment. Anders also stared at the glow as it faded, his expression confused and not comprehending—or not believing.

Then he burst out in a laugh of shock and joy. “Did you see that?” he exclaimed, looking up at her, eyes wide and sparkling. “It’s... it _worked,_ Cait! It happened!” He rested one cheek against her belly, smiling, as his eyes grew watery.

She finally was able to process what was happening. A sob escaped her as she held him tightly in place, stroking his hair. “It did,” she whispered. “I’m... we’re going to be parents of another, Anders.”

A happy, wistful sob—an expression of joy for the second chance and grief for the theft of the earliest years of the first—escaped him. He relaxed on his knees before her, aware that he would have to get to his feet and that they would both have other things to do soon enough, but wanting to relish this moment. _At last, a measure of justice,_ he thought. The spirit within him seemed to agree.

* * *

They did not tell Mal immediately, wanting to be sure that the child survived long enough to quicken. Anders became even more affectionate to her than usual, giving her frequent pecks on the cheek or embraces—sometimes even in public—and despite the fear that they both felt for the future, a smile frequently adorned his face. Caitlyn wondered how long it would take for Mal to guess why.

She still had to adjust some aspects of her lifestyle. No longer could she have a drink at dinner; Anders was very adamant that that was harmful. Her sudden abstinence was something that would be impossible to conceal if she had to host a state dinner, and she was definitely not ready to make that announcement yet—but fortunately, no such events were on her calendar for the period when they chose to keep it a secret. She also had to be more careful of her physical activity. Since becoming Viscountess, she had found herself in fighting situations a lot less frequently—the most significant being the face-off with the High Dragon—but she realized, as the joy of her new “condition” became familiar and other feelings settled in too, that she had taken a lot for granted in her first few years in Kirkwall. _I can’t rush headlong into danger now,_ she thought about a month and a half along. _Not only would I be risking the city, risking the cause, and risking creating grief for my current family, I would now be risking the life of this baby too. I never had to worry about that in Ferelden with Mal. I did farm work and cast spells at a distance if some sort of dangerous animal approached. It has been nine years since I last became pregnant,_ she thought, _and so much has changed. Maker—I want to tell Mal, but I need to wait a little longer yet._

After that moment of contemplation, she decided that a suitable time to tell him was when they knew whether they were having a boy or a girl this time. Before, Anders had been able to tell her that they were having a boy about two months into her pregnancy. That was still before the traditional three-month period for making the official announcement to the public, but her family could know. _Mal can know,_ she amended, not quite trusting her mother’s discretion.

Anders was also anxious to tell Mal, but after discussing it with her, he agreed with her opinion of the best time for that. “We should think about names,” he said.

Caitlyn considered that briefly. “I’d rather know first. That way I won’t get more attached to one name than the other!” When he gaped at her, stifling a shocked laugh, she laughed ruefully as well. “Well... that and it seems like a jinx. I know it’s foolish. I’m a mage, and even though I am not a professional Healer, I have lived with one for four and a half years. Closer to five, if we count Lothering. I know that these things are a matter of health, mine and the baby’s, not superstition. But... _Maker.”_

“I know,” he said quietly, holding her in a loose hug. “Considering what happened to us with Mal, I understand and I feel that myself sometimes. We’ll wait, then.”

* * *

At last, two months had passed. Despite her resolution not to think about baby names, she had done so. If they were having a girl, she wanted to honor Bethany, but she could not name the child directly after her sister. That was too much. The first name, the name by which she called her daughter, if she had a daughter, needed to be something else—and she thought she knew what it should be. She hoped that Anders would approve if they had a girl; he, after all, had never called his mother by her first name, so she hoped that it would not seem to him like borrowing her identity. But if they had another boy, she found herself coming up empty. She really, really did not want to name a son of hers after her grandfather Aristide Amell or her uncle Gamlen. She did not know anything about her father’s family—and after he had escaped from the Circle, he had not reunited with them anyway. She also knew that Anders would not want to give any honor to the father who gave him away because he was a mage, knowing he wouldn’t see his son again; in fact, he had dropped his _own_ birth name at twelve because he had originally been named for the man who had discarded him. She supposed that if they were having another boy, they would need to think of an entirely new name rather than honoring someone in the family lines. _I have a unique name, after all,_ Caitlyn thought.

She was aware that she was postponing telling Mal, because that would somehow would make it realer. It would mean knowing the sex of the child and choosing a name. It would mean that in the next month, she would need to tell everyone else—including the people of Kirkwall, her foreign allies, _and_ her adversaries, both foreign and not. _I knew this,_ she thought as the end of the month approached. _I knew that these things would not go away, and I chose with my eyes open._

It was a warm, stuffy, humid day—a day to be indoors where at least there was shade and the draftiness of the Keep was finally an advantage—when a well-dressed courier rode up to the Keep. He was wearing a tabard with a mabari sigil on one side and a wyvern on the other: the heraldry of the Theirins and the Mac Tirs, donning both devices because the Fereldan royal couple shared the crown and ruled jointly. When he was admitted to the Keep, Caitlyn knew what tidings he bore as soon as she was told he was there. So did Anders.

Mal was somewhat uncooperative about putting down his little staff and leaving the practice room to greet the guest. “This is a royal messenger from Ferelden,” Caitlyn chided him, “and he has something very important to say, we think. Surely you don’t want a king and queen to think you were impolite!”

He pouted, but only for a moment. “All right,” he said grudgingly, putting his staff into a closet in the practice room. Anders locked and warded the door. Together they all headed out to the outer Keep, where the courier waited.

“Your Graces,” he announced, “I bear joyous news from your allies in Ferelden: Her Majesty the Queen has been safely delivered of a daughter, Princess Celia Brighid Dairine Theirin.”

“That’s a lot of names,” muttered Mal. Anders gave him a nudge.

“I’m delighted to hear this,” said Caitlyn—and it was true, she realized. Now that she was expecting another child herself, she _was_ happy for her allies. “I will certainly send gifts to them by you when it is time for your return.”

They him put up in one of the outer Keep guest rooms before returning to the area in the family quarters next to the warded practice room. Caitlyn let Mal scamper off to resume his practice, then turned to Anders.

“You want to know,” he guessed. She nodded. He gazed around furtively before beginning the spell that he had last used for her back in Ferelden, in Lothering....

A smile bloomed on his face. “This one’s a girl,” he said. “We’re having a daughter too.” He gazed adoringly at her. “We’re having a little girl.”

Her hand covered her belly at once, though she could still feel nothing. “Can we....” Her voice became husky.

He got to his feet and placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “Are you all right, love?”

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat that had suddenly formed. “Can we... would you mind... if we name her Johanna Bethany? I thought....”

His eyes widened in surprise, but it lasted only for a moment before he enveloped her fully in his embrace. “That’s... I don’t know what to say,” he choked out. “She would be honored. _Both_ of them. Jo Beth?” he said weakly. “Keeping with the tradition you started of giving a nickname, a name that is only their own....”

“Sure,” she agreed through unshed tears. “Maker, Anders, I’m _so_ happy that you are here to discuss this with me. I made the decision alone for him.”

“I probably would have suggested naming him for your father, even if he had survived,” he said quietly. “But you named him for me too... and I would not have presumed to suggest that!” Gentle teasing filled his words suddenly, but they both knew it was a way to avoid being overcome with emotions.

“I expect I still would have,” she said, oddly relieved that Mal still would have been Mal even if Anders had been there to help her name him.

Inside the practice room, the child in question overheard. He stopped throwing spells at the warded stone and marched toward his parents. “What’s going on?” he said. “Are you all right?”

“We are,” Caitlyn said, getting control of herself as she faced him. She took a deep breath. “Mal... darling... the message that the courier brought made us remember to do something, and we just learned that... you are going to have a sister.”

His eyes grew very wide, and he was struck speechless for a moment. “A sister,” he said in awe. “When?”

She did the maths quickly in her head. “Haring. Another winter birthday, like you and I have!”

“Father doesn’t,” Mal pointed out. Indeed, Anders’ birthday was in the summer. “But that’s good! I can’t wait.”

“Neither can we,” Anders said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn’t too nauseatingly sweet and was a nice respite from the dark grimness of the preceding chapters… and, yes, those yet to come.
> 
> I decided for my own headcanon purposes that Anders decided affirmatively to change his name as a kid—that it wasn’t just that he answered to a name given to him at the Circle (which would actually be rather strange, considering), but that (and this is my own HC) he had been named for his father and deliberately wanted nothing more to do with that name, whatever it was, after being given away. Given that his mother's name is Johanna, and the Anderfels are linguistically "Germanic," I think it was a misjudgment to make her Fereldan and the dad Ander, and I'm strongly inclined to make the reverse my headcanon too.


	22. The Gods of a Second Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I apologize for the delay! I struggled with this chapter, to avoid making it feel like more companion bookkeeping, because a very important story arc is about to take place following this chapter and I am eager to get to that.
> 
> Song is “Mephistopheles” by Trans-Siberian Orchestra and is about that figure offering a Faustian bargain.

Caitlyn was feeling both triumph and dread. It was early Justinian 9:36, and she had been pregnant for three months. That was longer than she had been pregnant in 9:27 when Anders had been taken from them. It was only just a bit longer—but it _was_ longer, and the triumphant part of her felt that since they had made it past this artificial line with nothing bad happening, it would be all right. The part of her that felt dread was more cynical and instead feared that the “something bad” would merely happen a bit later.

She had not wanted to confide this inner turmoil to Anders. He seemed to be purely joyful about this pregnancy, his fears finally banished—or simply crowded out—and she did not want to spoil that joy for him, since it had been so terribly brief during her first pregnancy. She was not yet showing, but when they were in the family quarters and had their personal privacy, that did not stop him from surprising her from behind with a sudden hug, a nuzzle of her neck, and frequently, a caress of the place on her lower abdomen that would start to grow in a couple of months. He usually fell asleep embracing her, either from behind or cuddling her head beneath his chin—or nestling his in her bosom. He had always been physically affectionate and liked touch, which she supposed was likely a consequence of being given up by his father, ripped from his chosen family years later, and living in the affection-starved environment of the Circle for thirteen years. Now they could barely keep away from each other.

He was also very energetic and passionate when they were _entirely_ alone, whether in their bed or out of it. Some of it might be Warden stamina—which neither Justice nor either Taint-mitigating potion he had taken treated as a problem—but since they had learned of this pregnancy, this part of their private lives truly had changed. They had not exactly been negligent of each other’s needs before, but sometimes it had a dutiful aspect; the awareness that they _should_ give this to each other sometimes felt as strong as their natural desires. Now, those desires had completely occluded that lurking sense of obligation—which was always accompanied, below the surface, by a shadow of anxiety for what might happen to their relationship if they _didn’t_ make the effort. Caitlyn knew that the deliberate work to keep their relationship intimate also mattered, but it was still nice for things to be refreshed without it. After over four years of marriage and an additional total of eight months as lovers, Anders was almost as familiar with her body as he was with his own, and likewise for her—so that familiarity made this time of hot, uncontrolled desire even better than their time in Lothering or their reconciliation in Kirkwall.

Caitlyn was enjoying the period of heated passion and warm, cuddly affection. It helped her to cope with the stresses of her position, which remained even when the brewing rebellion seemed to be in a lull. Kirkwall was a troubled city with many problems, many of which had nothing to do with mages and Templars, and Caitlyn was determined not to let them slide as her predecessor had. It was almost too late now to help the Fereldan refugees, however. Those who had lasted in Kirkwall this long had done so because they had achieved some measure of success and had escaped poverty, and they no longer needed official help; those who had struggled in earlier years were mostly lost—whether to repatriation, or, she feared, death or slavery.

It was important to her to root out the slaver gangs. Most of them sold their “goods” to Tevinter, and Caitlyn was acutely aware that people who distrusted her because she was a mage would spread conspiracy theories that she was letting slavers flourish because of sympathy for Tevinter. That Dumar, Threnhold, and, for that matter, Meredith Stannard had let the same gangs flourish—and in Meredith’s case, had even granted amnesty to criminals if they turned in apostates to her—would not matter to such people. When the rebels and angry mobs seemed to disappear or settle down, Caitlyn shifted her focus to getting rid of slaver operations in the city. It was a good use of the Arcane Guard’s skills, as well, since most of the gangs had one or more blood mages—but it was a tough slog. These people had held their “territory” for decades, and they were not inclined to give it up. One nasty skirmish between the Guard and a slaver gang had resulted in severe injuries for three of the Guard mages, but they seemed determined to soldier on, and Caitlyn supported their resolve. But it was still grueling and slow, and she was glad of the bright spots that were her family, her pregnancy, and her and Anders’ sudden upsurge in affection.

Early in the month, he had remarked wryly that he was happy that he could “finally once again do the one thing that a consort is _supposed_ to do”—which prompted her to reassure him that he had always been much more to her than fertile seed, and that they were true partners. He had smiled back, expecting that, but she could tell that it really did matter to him that they could experience this happiness together a second time, hopefully without it being destroyed. She did not want to spoil this for him by confiding her vague, nebulous fears that “something bad would happen.” _And now that I think of it,_ she thought at one point after brooding, _I probably spend too much time worrying about this myself. I should enjoy this time as well. It’s like the dark mood I had before my wedding. It’s all right to be happy, Caitlyn,_ she chided herself, resolving to take her own advice.

The calendar had reached the traditional three-month mark when a prominent couple could announce their expected baby. Shortly after sending a gift to the Teyrna of Gwaren and Warden-Captain for the birth of Saoirse Mac Tir—Caitlyn wondered, wryly, if the potion somehow favored the conception of girls—she and Anders made their announcement to the prominent people of Kirkwall and sent couriers to their allies abroad.

They had called the nobles, important merchants, and high-ranking officials to a large room in the outer Keep. Those who were their allies, including Ser Marlein and the de Launcets, were visibly pleased. Leandra was happy as well, though a little hurt that she had not been told in advance. Caitlyn hoped that her mother would set that aside with time; she could hardly explain that the reason she had kept her mother in the dark was that she did not trust her to keep it a secret. Pleased with the attention, Grand Cleric Petrice ostentatiously led a prayer for the Viscountess and her family—about which Anders and Caitlyn both felt very smug, even though they were not exactly highly observant or orthodox. Even Cullen seemed happy for them, if awkwardly unsure that it was right for him to feel that way.

But in the back of the room, invited only for propriety, Meredith Stannard glowered in anger at the idea of a mage couple reproducing again, silently refusing to bow her head or close her eyes.

* * *

_A month later._

“Well,” Caitlyn said, going through the pile of letters that had been delivered, “our news certainly made a splash!”

Anders and Mal looked up. “You received congratulations from Ferelden a fortnight ago,” he said. “What’s in that pile?”

Caitlyn waved a very ornately decorated parchment. “This is from Celene.” She picked up another one with a broken sunburst seal. _“This_ is from Justinia!”

He glowered. “It’s about time that she wrote directly to you.”

“It’s a harmless, proper note,” she said, “but it seems warm for what it is. She could have been formal and chilly.” A dark smile filled her face as she sifted through the correspondence. “Prince Sebastian was, after all. He merely wished us to have a ‘successful birth and healthy child.’ Good to know that he does not wish death on an innocent baby, at least,” she said bitterly.

“I wonder why he even bothered to write.”

“We’re not at war. It’s still protocol to do this even for a head of state that one dislikes, if it is peacetime.” She smiled at the next letter. “This one is from Isabela and Fenris. Don’t look like that, Anders,” she chided him as he glowered involuntarily at the mention of the latter. “They also congratulate us. Isabela writes that they are going to return to Kirkwall by August or Kingsway, whether they have tracked down Danarius or not. She says she’s taught Fenris how to read and write.” Her eyes widened at the last note. “This one is for you, love, and it’s from Lady Cousland.” She passed the note to him.

“It has a griffon,” Mal remarked, observing the seal. “I hope the griffons survived somewhere and that they aren’t all gone.”

“Maybe they did,” Caitlyn said as Anders read his letter. “Dragons did when everyone thought they were gone, and now they are doing very well.”

“Father doesn’t think I should be a Grey Warden when I grow up,” the boy said.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that you had discussed it with him.”

“I’m worried about being a mage,” he confessed. “It’s a way to be safe.”

Appalled, she got up and sat next to him, placing an arm around his back. “Listen,” she said feelingly, “your father and I _will_ make things right for fellow mages. You will _not_ have to do something that drastic just to be safe! I promise.” She had become somewhat pessimistic of late, but hearing her son express his own pessimism—and arrive at the conclusion that he had to join the Grey Wardens to be safe—shocked her out of the dark, fatalistic complacency that this pessimism brought. _I will not let that happen,_ she vowed, ashamed of herself for even contemplating failure. _I haven’t failed yet and I will make sure I don’t, whatever it takes._

“You bloody well _won’t_ join the Grey Wardens!” Anders exploded, throwing his letter down. He rose from his chair, Ser Pounce-a-Lot jumping from his lap in indignation at being disturbed.

“Anders!” Caitlyn exclaimed sharply.

“You said bloody!” chimed in Mal, amused and shocked.

“Read that!” he retorted, pointing dourly at the letter. “Read that and tell me if you disagree!” He stormed to the nearest window and glared out.

Uneasily Caitlyn picked up the multiple-page letter and began to read it.

 

_Warden Anders,_

_For my part, I offer my strongest congratulations to you and the Viscountess. I know that this was something that you and your family wanted very much, and it makes me happy that you are experiencing it. I also offer my congratulations to your son for becoming a big brother soon. As one who has an older brother myself, I urge him to be kind to his sister when she is born! I wish the Viscountess and your unborn daughter well and have no doubt that they are in the hands of the best Healer in Kirkwall. Leliana, our adopted children Amethyne and Ellandrion, and the Grey Wardens of Ferelden—including, needless to say, Warden Carver—join in this sentiment._

_Unfortunately, it seems that the Grey Wardens elsewhere in Thedas—save Warden-Captain Stroud and his unit—do not share this feeling. The very morning that I began this letter, I received a shocking and deeply offensive message from Weisshaupt. I have attached a faithfully transcribed copy of it for your own information, but do know that I do not agree with these instructions or the mindset underlying them._

 

Nervously, Caitlyn turned to the next sheet, which contained the text of the letter from Weisshaupt. This, no doubt, was what had infuriated Anders. Girding herself, she continued to read.

 

_Warden-Commander Elissa of Ferelden:_

_It has come to our attention that three high-profile Grey Wardens who were Joined in Ferelden and either are, or once were, under your command, have fathered children years after their Joinings, all within a year of each other. The first such instance could have been dismissed as a lucky fluke or a case of mistaken paternity, but the confluence of circumstances reveals that the Fereldans under your command have apparently devised a potion or magical procedure for negating the effects of Warden infertility, at least in men._

_We recognize the exceptional circumstances surrounding the birth of Princess Celia Theirin, given that your King Alistair was the last of the Fereldan royal line before her birth. We also recognize that the lordship of Gwaren needed an heir that had to come either from the Queen or from the Teyrna. However, we express our extreme surprise that you passed your discovery to Kirkwall, as the line of the Viscountess was secured already. You wrote to the First Warden of the Kirkwall Consort’s past when he, like Alistair, resigned from active duty, so we conclude that sharing the potion recipe with him was likely an act of sympathy for him and his separation from his first child. Though sentimental, this must not be repeated._

_Despite the fact that we reluctantly acknowledge the unusual situations for Gwaren and the Crown of Ferelden, the existence of a potion or procedure to defeat Warden infertility runs counter to the ancient traditions of the Grey Wardens. Wardens are to give up all ties to family upon Joining and to devote themselves wholeheartedly to the fight against the darkspawn, and this discovery is a defiance of the spirit of this tradition. Additionally, since Wardens take no vows of abstinence and males have physical needs, it would reflect extremely negatively on the Order if Wardens began to sire bastard children over the course of their duties and travels. We recognize that the three high-profile Wardens who have taken advantage of your discovery are all married, and we hope that you have not shared it freely with all Wardens with whom you communicate, just those you judged faithful to their wives._

_The First Warden hereby orders you to share it with no one else, to confiscate any instructions that you have given out, and to perform the Joining on any members of the household, such as Court Mages, who may be required to perform the process or make the potion and who are not Wardens. Since we are aware that Warden/Consort Anders is himself a mage, we order you to tell him that he is not to disseminate the instructions he has received any further._

 

Sparks seemed to pop behind Caitlyn’s eyes at this. “This is disgusting,” she seethed. “They obviously think that Wardens should mostly be men and that their only contact with women should be to _use_ them, not love them and want families with them! Soldiers and camp-followers, that’s how they see it!”

“The Warden-Commander once mentioned that prior to her recruitment, all the Wardens in Ferelden _had_ been men,” Anders said. “That was why she recruited Sigrun and Velanna. This makes me wonder if part of the reason why broodmothers still exist, and the Calling is still a reality everywhere except Ferelden, is that there are too few women high in Warden command who can talk about the risk to women to enter the Deep Roads! Even if a man doesn’t die fighting the darkspawn—like that poor sap Larius back in 9:32—he ‘only’ becomes a ghoul, so the Calling is not a problem.” His voice was sarcastic.

“You may be right,” Caitlyn said. “Oh—there is more from Lady Cousland. Just a minute.” She continued reading.

 

_In addition to the manifest offensiveness of the First Warden’s letter, I know for a fact that certain highborn Orlesian Wardens maintain contact with their families—and that Weisshaupt not only accepts this, but welcomes it as beneficial to the Order to have noble connections, provided, apparently, that the nobles are from the Orlesian Empire. Needless to say, I have no intention whatever of severing contact with my lord brother, nor does Warden Carver intend to cut contact with his family—your family._

_I should add, finally, that this letter—though shocking in its gross offensiveness—is merely the final straw for myself, Warden-Captain Loghain, Warden-Enchanter Finn, and Warden-Captain Stroud. Since you are retired from active duty and have enough troubles of your own with Kirkwall, I will not share the full details of what we have been hearing and dealing with in our correspondence with other Warden posts abroad, but suffice it to say that the four of us are convinced that the Grey Warden Order is filled with corruption and malfeasance that likely comes from the very top. We agree that, barring a change of leadership, we cannot trust any Warden posts other than our own, especially not those in Orlais and the Anderfels. Stroud warns us that the Orlesians in particular appear to be acting suspiciously. Why, he cannot guess, but he urges us not to trust them. Loghain needed no convincing, obviously, but it was especially powerful to me that this warning would come from one with Orlesian noble heritage. I have passed this warning on to King Alistair and now pass it to you and Viscountess Hawke as well: Should any Warden outside our four posts contact you, do not give any private information to them and please proclaim ignorance of any goings-on in the Fereldan Wardens. I cannot ask Leliana to get to the bottom of it, since she has her hands full with the Chantry rebels, but once we have the agents, we will try to find out what we can. In the meantime, the four of us will be ending contact with outside Warden posts. Please, for your own sake, be careful. I hate to have to put another worry on your heads, but I would be remiss not to warn you._

_Maker watch over you,_

_Warden-Commander Elissa Cousland of Ferelden_

 

Caitlyn took a deep breath and set the letter down. “Your father is right,” she said to Mal. “This would not be a good time to join the Grey Wardens. They are having trouble.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Is Uncle Carver all right?”

“Yes,” she assured him. “The Fereldan Wardens are just fine—but most of the others, in other nations, are possibly up to something, so they are having to keep to themselves and watch out for each other. As I said, your father and I _will_ make things right for mages. I promise, Mal.”

Anders turned around from the window and gazed at his family. “So do I.”

* * *

_A month later._

Isabela had sent a letter from Ostwick, indicating that she was sailing for Kirkwall. Caitlyn and Anders could therefore estimate when she and Fenris were due to arrive, and Varric was at the docks to welcome them when they did. Unsurprisingly, they wanted to rest in Fenris’s house first. But after a night of regaining their equilibrium for being on land, they would be ready to visit the Keep as the guests of honor at a welcome dinner.

It was still a significant change to Caitlyn to have a cook at her beck and call all the time. Even in the Amell house after she had hired Orana, her mother had wanted to help the maid prepare meals. But at the same time, there was so much work to do as Viscountess—especially one who who had a cause far broader even than the welfare of the city—that she could not have cooked even if she had wanted to. But that meant that it would not require the greater part of a day for _her_ to prepare a banquet.

Her friends and family began to arrive late in the day, Merrill, Leandra, and Charade first—her uncle wanted to stay at home—followed by the others in a steady trickle. Varric sauntered in, followed by Aveline and Donnic, and at last, just before the meal was set to begin, the long-absent pirate and Tevinter elf stepped inside.

“There is fashionably late, and then there’s this,” Varric chided.

“And we are neither,” Isabela retorted, “so no harm done. And _Your Grace,”_ she said with an exaggerated, ironic bow to Caitlyn. “Haven’t _you_ done well! I also hear that there’s another Hawke-Anders baby on the way.”

Anders placed an arm protectively on her waist. Five months along, she finally had a small bump, which he cherished seeing, not having had the chance to see her like this when she was carrying Mal. “There is,” he said.

“So your staff still sparkles and her Fade-rift is still open to you,” she purred, prompting sharp looks from him and Caitlyn. Mal was confused at her innuendo, and with a look of embarrassment at having forgotten he was there, she turned at once to him to distract him. “And what do _you_ think of having a sister? Maker’s breath, it’s been a while. You were a sprout last I saw you!”

“No, I wasn’t,” the boy replied indignantly. “And I like it just fine! I’m going to have a sister, but I’ll be the _big_ brother.”

Fenris gazed around the inner Keep. “When last I was inside these walls, the place was spattered with blood,” he said quietly. He turned to Caitlyn. “It’s improved quite a bit from that.” Irony filled his voice, and the ghost of a smile graced his face.

She could tell that this was his way of congratulating her, and she smiled back. “I’m so glad that the both of you are back at last,” she said, meaning it. “You haven’t met my cousin Charade... and there have been other changes too. Merrill lives with my mother, uncle, and cousin now.”

“The Knight-Commander captured me and took me to the Circle,” Merrill said quietly. “They got me out, but I have had to hide since then. Well,” she corrected, “not _hide,_ exactly, but I had to have a safer place to live.”

Fenris looked disturbed. Whatever his views of blood magic—indeed, of magic at all—Caitlyn realized that he did not want his friends to be locked up.

“And so we’re all here, except I guess for Junior,” Varric remarked. “It _has_ been a while.”

They gazed at the table, thinking. At last Caitlyn stepped forward. “Let’s sit down,” she urged. “We can catch up over the meal!” Once she had taken her seat, the others followed—and in a few minutes, the staff brought the food.

The dinner began quietly. It wasn’t that no one had anything to say, but everyone—including Mal—seemed subdued and thoughtful. _It’s as though we all realize that something is coming,_ Caitlyn thought, gazing out at her friends and family. _We all know it, even though we don’t know exactly what it will be._

She decided to break the ice. “I hate that you didn’t find Danarius,” she said between courses. “He hasn’t been in Kirkwall either, to my knowledge.”

Fenris glowered. “It isn’t that we couldn’t find him,” he spat. “We knew where he was. We just couldn’t get to him. He was too well protected.”

“How so?”

“Attacking a magister in Minrathous is no easy task. They have bodyguards and thralls who will die for them, and their bodyguards are usually mages too. I hope he returns to Kirkwall,” he said. “That’s the best chance I have of... _meeting_ him.”

“We did hear some interesting rumors and news,” Isabela said. She gave Caitlyn a wry smirk. “You are quite popular in Tevinter.”

Caitlyn exchanged an uneasy glance with Anders, then turned back to the pirate. “I don’t know how to take that.”

“Just take it as a fact. Of course Minrathous buzzed with approval of a _mage,_ a defiant reform-minded former apostate, to boot, who defeated the Arishok of the Qunari and then took over a city to rule it!”

“I didn’t _take over_ the city,” Caitlyn said sharply. “That sounds like I led a conquest. I became Viscountess lawfully and peacefully—because I always intended there to be a moot to remove Dumar. I didn’t want him to be killed.”

“Hey, I don’t disagree!” said Isabela. “I’m just the messenger! But that’s what the Tevinters are saying about you. They’re thrilled.”

“Fine,” she said, “but I wonder how thrilled they will be when they learn that I have been making it a priority to get rid of their slaver gangs.”

Fenris glanced up in surprised approval. Aveline spoke up. “It has been grueling, hard work,” she said, “but we have made real progress.”

“And it’s in large part due to mages,” Anders added pointedly.

“Ah, yes,” said Isabela. “We did hear about the mages in the City Guard and the healing clinics. And also, uh....” She trailed off uneasily.

“The attack?” said Caitlyn. “No one was killed, though there were a few people—including one Healer—who suffered permanent injuries. Anders is responsible for the fact that no one died.” She gazed lovingly and proudly at him. “He cast three powerful mass healing spells in a row, even though it completely sapped him.”

“Unsurprising,” Isabela said. “The two of you both have a thing about being crazy-mad heroes. Which I mean in the best possible way,” she assured them with a teasing smile. “Though I assume that when you say no one died, you don’t include the abomination Healer. The bad one, I mean—the killer.”

Anders gaped at her in confusion and surprise. Caitlyn drew herself back defensively as something occurred to her. The denunciation that Elthina had written returned to her memories. The former cleric had stated that the mages’ work had “resulted in” an attack on the Keep, but at the time, Caitlyn had assumed this was a deliberately misleading statement, intended to make people think that the Healers themselves were responsible without actually claiming that. “Is _that_ what people say in the north?” she demanded.

“Well, yes,” said Isabela, exchanging glances with Fenris. “It’s untrue?”

She sucked in her breath hard, then exhaled quickly. “It’s a filthy lie,” she spat. “The one who attacked the Keep was a civilian fanatic who hated mages! He was incited by a former Templar named Mettin, who spouted bile in the streets with an adoring mob. They have all left town now, and good riddance. Starkhaven can have them. Or the Void, which is what I’d prefer.”

Isabela was surprised. “Well, I don’t know what they think in Tevinter. They’re too pleased with you there to talk about something like that. I only heard this mentioned in White Chantry nations and that’s what the story is, that one of the Healers became an abomination and tried to kill patients.”

“That is absolutely false, and I’d love to know how it started—and by whom,” said Caitlyn angrily. “I assume this rubbish came out of Starkhaven or Tantervale, probably brought there by Mettin’s mob—because I think they must have gone to one of those cities—but I’d like to know if they know it’s a lie.”

“When I executed a group of criminal Templars—Caitlyn was in Ferelden getting an alliance and had left me as Regent—apparently there were people who didn’t believe the Templars’ guilt,” said Anders. “And we know that Sebastian didn’t believe that Elthina was guilty of treason even with a note in her handwriting. Zealots believe what they want to believe. But Caitlyn is right,” he continued. “It was a civilian, not even a Templar, who hated mages. He had a homemade bomb that he threw at Caitlyn and Mal, and it exploded and injured everyone there. He survived too, because my healing spells also caught him, but she later gave him the _full_ punishment for high treason.”

“Ouch,” said Isabela. “Well... it’s good to know the truth. We had no idea.”

“Knowing the truth is good,” Fenris agreed drolly.

 _That it is,_ thought Caitlyn as she gazed across the table. _But how many people are truly willing?_

* * *

Fenris and Isabela had been settled in for little more than three days when the message arrived at the Keep. The seal was not something that Caitlyn recognized. A pair of thin, elongated, intertwined dragons—one great and one small—faced each other, mouths agape.

“That looks Tevinter,” Anders remarked, eyebrows drawn together in thought, when Donnic Hendyr presented the sealed scroll to them. “I wonder.... You heard when Isabela said that the Tevinters approved of Caitlyn. But surely it’s not from the Archon....”

“I presume not, given that the messenger was entirely nondescript and scampered away as soon as he handed it to me,” Donnic said dryly.

“So someone using the Imperium heraldry without sanction?” Caitlyn said. “Or... could it _be_ an official message, just sent quietly to avoid arousing suspicion?”

“Whatever it is, I would advise you to be wary of it.”

“It’s not cursed,” Caitlyn said, quickly casting a spell at the scroll to determine that. “If it’s ‘correspondence’ from a slaver gang leader who doesn’t like what I’ve been doing lately, I’ll let you and Aveline know that, so that it can be... dealt with.”

Donnic nodded at once and left them. As soon as they were alone, Caitlyn tore into the scroll, opening it so that Anders could read as well.

_Your Grace:_

_Greetings. My name is Varania, and I represent a quiet but growing political faction in the Tevinter Imperium called the Venatori. We watched with great pleasure as Your Grace defeated the Qunari savage in single combat—proving that, as we in Tevinter have long known, magic wins when it is given a fair chance—and then gazed with awe and admiration as you ascended to the head seat of your ancient city as a mage who does not piously condemn or backstab other mages to advance yourself, but instead, who openly calls for change in the benighted south. We also offer our congratulations to you and your lord husband for your expected second child._

_There are several of us in the Venatori who believe that an alliance between our faction and your government would be of mutual benefit. The Venatori seek to remake and restore the glory of the Imperium, eliminating the barriers to advancement that hold back powerful mages of little wealth or new blood. Tevinter gives precedence to altus mages, which is to say, those of ancient families, whether or not an individual is actually a gifted mage. Our faction seeks to change this, and our numbers are growing. Sadly, the Archon does not wish to ally with you for fear of starting a war with your White Chantry again. We Venatori do not share this fear—but we do recognize that any alliance between us and Kirkwall would have to be secret until we can achieve our goals. Two other Venatori—one of whom is a magister—and I are even now in Kirkwall, hoping to secure a meeting with you (and, if you wish, your lord husband) to discuss the possibilities and advantages to you. We are aware that you are threatened by retrograde brutes to the north and left twisting by timid cowards in Val Royeaux, and an alliance with a faction of powerful Tevinter mages would be greatly to your advantage._

_If you do wish to meet with us, please send a message to the docks district. Our courier will be wearing a garnet pendant with the ancient Kirkwall crest carved into the stone._

_Victoria magus,_

_Varania_

 

Caitlyn rolled up the scroll as she turned to Anders. She was honestly not sure what to think. She had never heard of this “political faction”—but then, why would she have known anything about internal Tevinter politics, she supposed. If what this Varania claimed of them was true, though, they seemed like they might really be allies. Maker knew she needed some more, since the Divine seemed to feel no sense of urgency, and even the Orlesian Wardens were possibly turning into a threat. Caitlyn’s hand found its way to her small bump involuntarily, and thoughts of Mal—nine years old in Dragon 9:37, _quite_ old enough for people to assume he would have shown magic—filled her mind. _Even though her motives are good, Justinia is too much of a Game-player, too focused on the big picture of southern Thedas, to focus on what could happen to one family if she waits. I thought last year that I needed an armed force better than the City Guard if it came to war, and that it should probably include a lot of mages. This could be the answer,_ she thought.

Anders was hesitant as well, as he gathered his thoughts. “What do you want to do?” he finally asked.

She took a deep breath. “I think I want to hear what they have to say. Let’s invite them— _just_ the three of them that she mentions—to the Keep. If it’s a trap, we’ll have a clear advantage.”

He considered, nodding. “That’s true. It can’t hurt to listen to them.”

“As long as it is done secretly.”

He chuckled. “I’ll leave that part to you.”

* * *

It did not take long to arrange the covert meeting in the Keep with the three Tevinter mages. To avoid involving outsiders in the secret, Anders himself delivered the reply to the courier, in disguise, and he and Caitlyn waited for the following day, when the meeting would occur. They made sure to set up wards and have their strongest staves with them in case the Tevinters were trying to trick them—or their terms were unacceptable but they would not take no for an answer. They sent Mal and the pets to the Amell house.

Rationally, Caitlyn could not imagine that a foreign delegation—even a covert one—would actually threaten her. If a band of rogue Tevinter mages, one of whom was a magister, attacked a head of state, that might unite even the likes of Sebastian Vael against the Imperium. And yet.... _If it does come to a fight for whatever reason, there are three of them and two of us,_ she thought, _and I am pregnant._ To be utterly sure, she told Varric, asking him to wait outside the room and to be ready to scramble the “team” if necessary.

Caitlyn’s and Anders’ reply note had urged the Tevinters to come to the Keep in disguise, claiming to be foreign merchants. She had hoped that they would leave their staves behind, but when the appointed hour arrived, the three of them sauntered inside the outer Keep with long, thin, oddly lightweight-looking swords sheathed by their sides. Their heads were all hooded. She felt her skin prickling with the awareness of magic nearby and turned sharply to Anders. His eyes were wide. He felt it too.

“Your Grace,” oozed the one who was apparently the leader, a gray-bearded man with a lined face—at least, so far as she could tell from beneath his heavy hood. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Caitlyn said curtly, eyeing their weirdly magical swords. “What, exactly, are your weapons... Magister, I presume?”

“Ah. It may be that in the south, certain magical disciplines are no longer practiced. These swords are enchanted to function as magical staves, and a mage who wields one is known as an ‘arcane warrior.’”

“I see,” she said curtly, her pulse suddenly speeding up. “Well. We are alone now, so I must insist that you and your companions remove your hoods so that Anders and I can see your faces.”

The Venatori hesitated for a moment before slipping their hoods back. Caitlyn looked from one face to the other to the third—

“Gascard DuPuis?” she exclaimed.

The Orlesian blood mage glared back at her. His hair was still blond, but his face was a lot harder than it had been when she had ordered him out of Kirkwall after discovering the “work” of his old master. “We meet again, Viscountess Hawke. I took your advice and apprenticed myself to a magister.”

Anders was staring at the third mage, who was a woman—a redhead like Caitlyn. And— “You’re an elf!” he said in surprise.

The woman peered back. “I am,” she said. “I am Varania. I wrote the letter. The Venatori believe in advancing _all_ talented mages.”

Caitlyn turned to the oldest mage. “And you?” she barked. “You are the leader, the magister, but I do not know your name.”

He hesitated for a moment before finally coming out with it. “I am Magister Danarius.”

Caitlyn and Anders glanced at each other. In a fraction of a second, she had slammed her palms on the long table in the meeting room, her eyes widening in anger. _“Are_ you?” she snarled. _“The_ Magister Danarius, who used to have a slave that you marked with lyrium?”

“So the stories are true. You know him,” Danarius remarked. “In the tale of your defeat of the savage oxman, there was mention of a lyrium-tattooed elf.”

“What are you _really_ here for?” she snapped.

“Such spirit,” said the magister admiringly. “We did not lie to you, Your Grace. We _are_ here to offer an alliance with the Venatori.”

“You left your name off the letter— _both_ you and DuPuis—because you must have known that I would be far less inclined to meet with you if I knew who you were,” she spat.

“Don’t be foolish,” said Danarius.

Anders cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said. “You don’t know her. If you did, you would know what a really terrible idea it is to call her foolish.”

Danarius looked as if he wanted to argue, but calm overtook him. “You’re right,” he said abruptly. “My apologies. Let us all start over, shall we?” He turned to Caitlyn, a sickeningly placid smile on his face. “On behalf of my companions and my faction, I offer my congratulations to Your Grace for your defeat of the Arishok and for making yourself Viscountess of Kirkwall as a mage. We greatly enjoyed hearing of your deeds.”

“So I have heard,” she said tautly.

“In fact, from our point of view, your ascension has contributed to reclaiming Kirkwall.”

“Reclaiming?” she repeated, her tone sharp. “Magister, I don’t know what your goals of ‘restoring the glory of the Imperium,’ as Varania’s letter said, actually entail... but Kirkwall is a free and independent city. I will no more let it rejoin the Tevinter Imperium than I will let it rejoin the Orlesian Empire.”

“Naturally,” oozed Danarius. “We would not compromise your sovereignty. From our perspective, the fact that a mage, married to another mage in a fertile union, rules what was once Emerius is quite good enough. That is what I meant by ‘reclaiming.’ This city was once ruled by mages. Now it is again, as it should be.”

 _I don’t like the sound of this at all,_ she thought. “‘Quite good enough,’” she repeated coolly. “Good enough for what? I’ll ask again: What are the goals of the Venatori? The true, _specific_ goals, not just a vague platitude?”

“We seek to change the internal politics of Tevinter to allow talented mages of... less fortunate circumstances... to have an easier path to achieving their ambitions,” Danarius said slickly, “and by so elevating these mages, to return the Imperium to a great power of Thedas, rather than a pariah state locked in perpetual combat with the Qunari due to our own neutering of ourselves.”

“What do you mean by a ‘great power of Thedas’? Conquest?”

“Not of our allies,” replied Danarius. “But do not think that we have not noticed the threat immediately to our south from the sanctimonious hypocrite of a princeling and the theocratic zealots in Tantervale. I understand that the doddering old woman who babied the princeling was conspiring to let the oxmen murder the former Viscount, and the proof offends him.”

“Our complaint with Prince Sebastian goes well beyond what happened in Dragon 9:34,” said Caitlyn. “Dumar is dead, the Qunari are gone, and there is a new Grand Cleric who is my ally. We think that his allies have been conspiring with zealots and ignorant mobs here in Kirkwall, as well as the Knight-Commander, to foment rebellion against me. Somehow,” she said acidly, “I _rather_ doubt that he and his allies have menaced Tevinter to that extent.”

“It is true, most likely because he knows that he does not stand a chance of defeating us—and that is why we have come. We would not see these people overthrow you and grind your accomplishments to dust. We can offer you regular, significant infusions of gold immediately. We can also offer the support of hundreds of Tevinter’s most powerful mages—and should war erupt, we would be in a good position to gain power in the Magisterium among those who wanted to help our southern brothers and sisters and saw the opportunity that war afforded to finally do that. If we had control of the Imperium, we have no doubt that we can conquer Starkhaven and Tantervale with little effort, and no one need know of _your_ part in it. And if they declare a schism from your so-called Divine, would she really stir herself to reclaim them, so far from Orlais, if it meant going against the Imperium while already fighting a rebellion?”

In spite of herself, in spite of her anger on behalf of Fenris that this man had enslaved and abused him, in spite even of Danarius’s too-slick tone, Caitlyn found something in his words compelling. _Hundreds of Tevinter-trained mages to fight for Kirkwall,_ she thought. _Hundreds of mages to fight for Kirkwall away from Kirkwall, in fact—to take the battle to Starkhaven and Tantervale. I’m not sure that Justinia would actually let the cities fall to Tevinter, but maybe they are right. Maybe, if she already had to fight a rebellion, she wouldn’t want to fight on a second front. What do I care if Tevinter took those cities, anyway?_ She spared a quick glance at Anders, who also looked thoughtful.

 _It is a good offer,_ she decided, meeting his eyes with hers, _too good, in fact. There is something he hasn’t told me._ She raised her eyebrows a minuscule amount at Anders, who seemed to understand her nonverbal language and looked down at the table to avoid making eye contact with the Tevinters.

She took a deep breath. “Your offer is... tempting,” she admitted. “I have to say, this surprises me, but it is true.”

Danarius, Varania, and DuPuis all beamed.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward, “what’s the _rest_ of it? What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” repeated Danarius. “There is no catch, Your Grace. Of course there would be terms for you, but the ones we propose are not onerous.”

“I’ll be the judge of that when I hear what they are.”

“Very well. We expect... the rumors are that your city is plagued by gangs and organized crime.”

“And what of it?” she said defensively. “I have placed skilled battlemages in the City Guard to help fight those gangs. Some of the gangs, I have to say, capture people for enslavement and ship them to _your country_.”

“We suspected as much, and we are prepared to help you deal with this.”

Caitlyn was shocked. _“Help_ me?” she said, knocked off balance. “You don’t... you are against slavery now? You changed your mind?” _If this is true,_ she thought quickly, _I actually should make this alliance! I can’t believe it._

“You misunderstand,” Danarius said smoothly. “The strong should protect and rule the weak, as you do here, and slavery need not be abuse. Some of the Venatori, in fact, _are_ former slaves whose masters saw their potential as mages. Varania is one such,” he said with a nod to the elf woman. “The gang warfare in your city occurs when there is no single organization that they all fear. We could send a large team to ‘claim’ Kirkwall and keep all other... operations... from working here. That would eliminate almost all of the gang murders, and those we took would be guaranteed good lives in Tevinter with masters who treated them well. We would not take people with established lives. Of course, you would need to ensure that your City Guard left us be.”

Anders tugged on her sleeve. “Can we talk in private?” he whispered.

She glowered at the guests, who were all smirking, as she stepped out of the room with Anders. They eased into the small room next door, where Varric was waiting outside for them to knock in code if they needed help.

“I think we... actually need to discuss their offer,” said Anders.

Caitlyn stared at him, appalled. “Anders!” she exclaimed. “You _cannot_ be considering this!”

He grimaced. “I know it sounds bad,” he said in a rush, “but think about it. They _would_ offer better lives to people like Darktown vagrants, Coterie muscle, and so on... and isn’t it worth it to stop the gang killings _and_ to have extremely powerful mage allies waiting for the signal? Let alone the gold they offer.”

Her eyes widened in shock, and she stared at him as if she had never quite seen him before. “You’re scaring me,” she said. “They’re proposing that I _deliberately_ let their slaver gang operate here, stealing Kirkwall residents to enslave in Tevinter. However poorly they may live now, at least they are free.”

“Are they?” he challenged. “Are _we_ free, Caitlyn? Is Mal free? What if we _need_ these people to keep Meredith from taking him? Danarius gave that elf freedom and let her join their faction. She’s no slave... but what Meredith would do to Mal... what she would do to this little one, to Jo Beth....” He drew forward suddenly, touching her bump. “I would let magisters comb the city from top to bottom if that’s what it took to protect our children. Anything, love. That was what we promised. Anything to protect them.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes. Anders was frightening her, it was true... but at the same time, she could somewhat see his point. _Which would be the greater evil, to knowingly allow slavers to operate in Kirkwall, perhaps abducting other people’s children—and I wouldn’t think they would leave street orphans alone—or to refuse their protection if it really did mean that my own child would be taken by a woman who would kill him if she took a fancy to do it? Which is worse, betraying my city as Viscountess or betraying my children as a mother? I’ve already made compromises,_ she realized. _I let a power-hungry demagogue take over the Chantry, let her execute prisoners of war, and compromised away the sovereignty of the Dalish clan for the sake of keeping her as my ally. Disarmed Qunari prisoners died and Dalish elves lost some of their independence because of me, and although both of those things bothered me, in the end I was able to rationalize them because of the importance of my cause and my family’s protection. Is this really worse?_

She opened her eyes miserably and faced him. “I understand your point,” she said. “It hurts to admit it... but I do understand. I do not know what I’d do if either of our children really would face unavoidable capture without a dark compromise. I... might make the compromise too.” She took a deep breath. “But we _don’t_ know that they face that. We do not know that it really is that dire. And we know nothing about these ‘Venatori’ except what they have told us. They may not be honest about their agenda. They’re definitely here without the sanction of the Tevinter government. I can’t make this alliance, Anders. I hope you understand _my_ point of view.”

He looked momentarily disappointed—and frightened, which made her realize that his view really was informed by this fear, and which further decreased her dismay at what he had said—but then his expression changed to acceptance and understanding. He nodded and offered her his arm. “You’re right. It seemed to me, for a moment, like a lifeline... a providential gift... and I was ready to make any excuse to take it. But you’re right. I lost my conscience and sense for a moment.”

She squeezed his hand, glad that he had made the admission and explained himself. He was just afraid of failure and afraid for their family, not amoral. She could understand that entirely; after all, she had just thought about the hard compromises that she herself had made.

 _I am pregnant and it is at a vulnerable stage. I don’t want this to come to a fight,_ she thought, _but if it does, I must win and win quickly._ Caitlyn glanced at the wall opposite the door. Varric was waiting on the other side. She gave seven quick, staggered knocks, put her ear to the wall, and waited until she heard his quiet reply before entering the meeting room again.

Danarius, Varania, and DuPuis were all still smirking when Caitlyn and Anders reentered. She took her seat at the head of the table coolly, Anders sitting down beside her, and gazed out at them, her staff near at hand.

“We’ve made a decision,” she said abruptly. “We cannot accept your terms as they are. I cannot protect a slaver cartel under any circumstances.”

The smirks on the Venatori’s faces faded immediately. Danarius glowered at them. “You have made a big mistake,” he declared.

“Time will tell as to that,” she replied. “However, we _are_ still willing to negotiate, provided that you understand slavery is off the table, _and_ pending my own additional research into your faction.”

He scowled, then looked up at her. “You won’t find much that you can trust. We are a new faction, and most of the other magisters regard us with disdain. If you credit what our enemies say of us, you are no ally.”

“I am no ally of any faction in Tevinter, because Tevinter politics have been none of my concern,” she said. She was ready to dismiss the lot of them in irritation and disgust when the door burst open.

Everyone at the table jumped as Fenris stormed heatedly into the room, followed by Isabela and Varric. “You,” he seethed to his old master. “I should have known this was a trap.” He glared at Caitlyn and Anders. “And were you negotiating handing me over?”

“What?” Caitlyn exclaimed. “Of course not! What are you talking about, anyway? Did one of them contact you?”

“She did,” he snarled, glaring at Varania.

“Now that you mention it, there is my counter-offer,” snapped Danarius. “No protection, no army of mages—but the gold we offered, if you let me take _him_ back to Tevinter where he belongs.”

 _“What?”_ Fenris roared, glaring in fury at Caitlyn for, apparently, even listening to his former master make an offer of gold.

“Fenris, this is not how it sounds,” she protested. “I did let him speak, and he did offer gold, but I was about to dismiss them.”

“You were going to let him _go,_ even knowing who he was?” Fenris’s neck was pulsing dangerously.

“I am with child,” she said. “I don’t want to fight them. I wouldn’t have interfered if you had wanted to pursue him, but....” She trailed off, suddenly ashamed of herself.

Varania spoke up. “We would have met anyway. As he said, I wrote to him to arrange a meeting. I am his sister.”

Anders laughed bitterly. “A mage! It has always been jealousy, hasn’t it?”

Fenris looked around the room as though deciding whom he wanted most to hurt. He breathed heavily. “I don’t believe you,” he snapped, finally deciding on Varania. “You are working for him to try to capture me again.”

“He was going to raise me to a magister!” she burst out. “That is what... his politics....”

“Power,” Fenris spat. “That’s all any of you mages care about!”

“I _am_ your sister,” Varania insisted. “I can tell you how you got those markings... Leto.”

“What?”

“That was your name. Your birth name. You competed for the lyrium markings in a tournament to win freedom for your family!”

Fenris glowered at her. _“If_ I did, some reward this is! You come here with _him_ to lure me in so that he will enslave me again!”

Caitlyn stood up, grabbing her staff tightly. “That’s enough,” she declared. “Fenris is not a slave!” She turned to Danarius, Varania, and DuPuis angrily. “I suggest that you all... _leave._ And Fenris... I won’t stop you if you follow them.”

In that moment, Gascard DuPuis, who had been quiet through most of the meeting, spoke up, a smirk gracing his face. “I think not,” he said. “It would be very _unfortunate_ if the Viscountess of Kirkwall were revealed to all of Thedas to be a blood mage. Wouldn’t you agree, Hawke?”

Rage, shock, and fear filled Caitlyn’s mind. She barely registered the look of betrayal on Fenris’s face at this. She almost forgot her pregnancy. The fact that he had _dared_ to blackmail her—to threaten her with exposure—was all that she could think of. She snarled a spell, and a fireball of searing intensity blasted the guests backward in their seats, their robes aflame.

But even as Anders, Fenris, Varric, and Isabela began to fight, the others were on their feet, their enchanted swords drawn, slashing and casting with them at once. Her three friends instantly engaged with Danarius and Varania, leaving Caitlyn and Anders to take on Gascard DuPuis.

“I let you go!” Caitlyn screamed at him, blasting him with a force spell—defiantly, since this was the school of magic that she had learned to replace blood magic. “I showed you mercy, and this is how you repay me?”

“Mercy?” DuPuis sneered as he cast. “Mercy for what? I did nothing to you. Your mother didn’t die, and you had no right to dismiss me from town. You were nothing then!”

“And yet you left.” A blast of cold from her staff struck him, chilling him.

He shook it off. “It was leave or die!”

“It certainly was, and you could have kept your life if you’d stayed the Void out of Kirkwall!”

“You hypocrite!” he exclaimed as Anders got him with a painful electrical spell. He stumbled to the ground, twitching and gasping. “You condemned me, but do you know who else worked with Quentin?”

“It can’t be anyone I know, so I don’t care.”

DuPuis gazed up at them, anger and hate seething from his face. “Orsino,” he hissed. “The First Enchanter.”

Shocked, she momentarily stopped casting spells. “That’s a lie.”

“You haven’t... his papers....” He coughed, blood spattering the ground.

Across the room, Fenris hovered over a fallen, bleeding Danarius, who was pleading for his life. Fenris scoffed, and in a lethal arc, plunged his hand into the magister’s chest and crushed his heart.

Varania shrieked and backed into a corner. “Please!” she screamed. “Please, spare me!”

“Why should I?” barked Fenris. “You wrote to me to trap me into coming here. You were willing to barter my freedom so that you could be a magister.”

“Fenris,” Varric spoke up, hoisting Bianca onto his back, “don’t do this.”

Caitlyn finally turned aside from the dying DuPuis and gazed miserably at him. “She is your sister,” she said feebly. “I would give almost anything to have _my_ sister back.”

“Your sister wouldn’t have sold you to a slave lord,” he spat.

She sighed; there was nothing she could say to that.

To her surprise, Anders rose up. His face and voice were hard. “I never thought I would say this, but... I understand Fenris. My father gave me up to be locked away. And I can never forgive him for it.”

Varania’s eyes grew wide with horror as she realized what was about to happen, but everyone else in the room looked away sharply as Fenris reached into her chest with his lyrium-infused hand.

The room grew silent as they all realized that the three foreign mages were dead. Varric and Isabela slumped unhappily against the wall, and Caitlyn rested her head on the tabletop, burying her face in her crossed arms. A soft touch on her back reassured her that Anders was trying to comfort her—but in the next second, a heavier weight pressed against her right side, and she realized that he was cuddling her to comfort himself as well. Soft sobs began to escape him. “What have we become?” he whispered next to her ear, so quietly that no one else could hear.

 _I don’t know,_ she thought, unable to think of anything to say, _but whatever it is, I do not like it._

“Is it true?”

Fenris’s angry voice broke the stillness. Caitlyn raised her head, gazing glassily at him. She needed no elucidation. “It _was_ true,” she said in broken tones. “I used to... for a couple of years. But I haven’t cast a single blood magic spell since the day of the Qunari attack. I gave it up. People _can_ change, Fenris. And I would never, ever have let them take you into slavery _or_ prey on people here. I swear.”

He was silent, taking it in, trying to withhold his own anger and betrayal before responding. Finally, when he did speak, it was not even in response to what she had said. With an angry, yet somewhat regretful, glance at Varania’s body, he muttered, “You were right. It doesn’t help. Nothing does. We get hurt and we never, ever heal.”

She tried to gather her thoughts. “We heal... and it leaves a scar,” she said quietly. “We’re never the same as before. But... Danarius is gone now. He is dead, Fenris. You won. You beat him. Don’t let him hurt you anymore.”

He sighed heavily, his breath suddenly turning to a shudder. “I hope that this doesn’t cause problems for you,” he said, his tone curt.

She realized the immensity of what it took for him to say that. “They were not representing the Imperium,” she assured him. “They were here on behalf of their own faction, which, now that they are all gone and I can see this with clearer eyes, seems more than a bit dodgy. If these Venatori were a legitimate movement, they wouldn’t have tried to broker an unsanctioned alliance with a foreign head of state at all. I... have a feeling that we may have just had an escape from something truly awful.”

“It’s not over,” Anders said grimly. He glowered at the body of Gascard DuPuis. “We never did go through the papers of that murderer, but we should now. If Orsino did conspire with him, I bet anything _that’s_ what Meredith is using to blackmail him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Venatori existed before Corypheus got at them, so I’ve taken a big liberty here. There are some things about the Fenris-Varania story that don’t make much sense to me, particularly her conviction that an elf could be made a magister. But if this is taken as true, and Danarius really did mean to elevate her, I actually think that can be used to support an AU in which they are both Venatori. Corypheus instilled human supremacy into the group, but before he got involved, a mage like Calpernia actually _did_ want to make Tevinter more meritocratic... only for powerful mages from the lower classes, admittedly, but there was the sprout of a reform agenda in the beginning. If the privileges of being a mage citizen of Tevinter should be available to powerful mages who are human slaves, maybe it could mean powerful mages who are elves too. In any case, if Varania’s claim is taken as true, then Danarius was all right with elven magisters if they’re powerful mages but was also a sleazy, abusive slave master. That doesn’t fit Dorian’s faction, but it could fit the pre-Corypheus Venatori, so I’ve made it so for this AU.
> 
> Gascard DuPuis did not change his ways in this AU because Leandra was not murdered and Caitlyn was extremely hostile with him. Her letting him go was not an unlooked-for act of mercy following a horrible crime against her family to which he was connected. Instead, she threatened him into leaving Kirkwall even though she was guilty of hypocrisy at the time regarding blood magic—and even acknowledged that to him, defiantly and self-righteously (“Yes, I do it, but I _feel bad_ about it”). He didn’t feel any obligation to her or guilt about the kind of magic he used... and then he took up with the Venatori.
> 
> Also, screw you Bioware again. And I doubt I need to specify why. Granted, you only get a certain reaction if you _do_ the deed, making your Hawke far, far worse, but still. At least there’s a PC mod to get that out of Anders’ character, even if (like me) you’re never going to actually trigger it.


	23. Stifling, Confining, Collapsing Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! Cullen fans, I think you’ll like the middle of the chapter. And Cullen detractors, it’s not so excusing of him that it's unreadable for you (I hope).
> 
>  **Warning** : This chapter contains violence against a pregnant woman.

Caitlyn shuffled through the papers of Quentin, Butcher of Lowtown, with distaste. She had kept them to prevent Gascard DuPuis from getting them, but she had never read them. Even though she had still practiced blood magic then, this was far beyond her limits of acceptable. Besides, the Butcher had nearly killed her mother and probably also her son, and would have done if Anders had not been at the house. It was an unpleasant memory, tinged by unrealized fear, that she had not had any desire to relive, so these papers had gone into a chest and had been locked away. Now, though, she needed to look through them to see if DuPuis’s accusation against Orsino was true.

She threw aside a scribble about the theory of extracting a loved one’s memories from the Fade and embedding them in a spirit that would then be forced to impersonate the deceased. It seemed that Quentin knew perfectly well that his... creation... would not have actually been animated by the soul of his dead wife, but that a simulacrum would have been good enough for _him._ That made it even worse to Caitlyn. A delusional man who could convince himself that this was his wife was pitiable. It was still a loathsome series of crimes, but there was something else behind it too. But one who was _not_ delusional, who wanted a thing that looked and acted like his wife not to have _her_ back, because he knew it was not she, but purely for _his_ companionship and pleasure—she grimaced in revulsion at _that_ thought—that man was beneath contempt. _He got what he deserved,_ Caitlyn thought, tossing aside another document. _He failed in the end, and we delivered justice upon him._

“I found something,” said Anders ominously, holding up a letter. His face was darkened. “There is no proof that it was Orsino who wrote this, but it is... highly suggestive, in light of everything else we know.”

Caitlyn took the letter that he offered and read over it quickly. The correspondent was conspiring with the murderer to exchange books and notes with him. The signatory was “O.” She glowered, handing it back to Anders. “It’s not definitive proof, as you said, but considering that DuPuis made the claim, I believe it. He had no reason to lie about that. In fact... I wonder if he wanted me to know this with his dying breath for my own sake. They did seem to support me. He might have wanted me to know it for my own protection.” A shadow passed over her face. “I wonder if I was right to attack....”

“He tried to extort you into siding with him,” Anders said. “He tried to blackmail you. You gave them the chance to leave peacefully—at least, to deal with Fenris on their own—but he refused it. He was accusing you of hypocrisy when he said it and it sounded like an act of spite to me, that you had mortally wounded him but there was still another conspirator highly placed in Kirkwall. However much he may have supported you politically, he couldn’t have known that Meredith was blackmailing Orsino with this knowledge.”

_“If_ she is,” Caitlyn said, getting to her feet with the document in hand. “The idea still jars me.  _Meredith,_ knowing that the First Enchanter conspired with a blood mage murderer, and keeping it secret?” She gazed at the paper. “The first vote that the four of us took—ending the dissolution of families and bringing mage siblings of Kirkwall mages back to this city—he voted against the reform, with Meredith, and said something in defense of this that I disagreed with.”

“Well, obviously,” Anders said with a smile.

She managed a smile in return. “Of course! But what he said was that people could do terrible things for love. He could have meant this. Where in the Void else would he have seen mages acting out of love, or what he thinks is love? I replied that having no one to care about destroyed people’s empathy and could make them become obsessed with the possibilities of ‘research’ without any thought for what it did to people. It seems prescient now.”

Anders glowered. “And of course he was locked up in that place for so long that he really thinks the Butcher acted out of love for his dead wife.”

“But Meredith, though... would she actually keep a secret like this?”

He considered. “It seems hard to believe, admittedly, but she is a menace, and if Orsino didn’t actually  _do_ blood magic himself, she might find it more useful to keep him around to thwart you. Knight-Commander Greagoir in Ferelden kept Irving around because he knew Irving wouldn’t cause trouble for the established order. On the other hand, Orsino  _might_ be taking her side in most of these votes because he knows he was wrong and thinks that working with her makes amends. But either way, he needs to be confronted.”

“I agree,” Caitlyn said. Her gaze hardened. “If _she_ isn’t blackmailing him into doing her bidding, _I_ will. I can use this to pressure him into stepping down.” She clenched her free fist, letting a tiny magic flame escape.

Anders’ amber eyes widened in surprise and respect. “That’s rather hard-edged, but probably necessary.”

“You know me.”

“That I do.” He gazed at her with admiration.

“Come with me,” Caitlyn urged him, stashing the note in a pocket. “I don’t want to do this alone.”

His gaze darted quickly to her small bump, then back to her face. “Of course,” he said gently.

* * *

After giving it more thought, Caitlyn asked Varric to be present. She was not sure that she would actually get to speak to Orsino alone. Caitlyn had requested a private audience, but Meredith regarded herself as a law apart and behaved accordingly. It was better to have strength of numbers, she reasoned.

When she, Anders, and Varric made their way up the Gallows steps, her heart sank. Orsino was there, flanked by Meredith, just as she had feared—and also Cullen Rutherford. She caught a quick glance of alarm on Anders’ face but steeled her resolve. _She wouldn’t dare,_ she told herself as they approached the First Enchanter and Templars. _Not in front of all of these witnesses._

“I requested a _private_ audience with the First Enchanter,” Caitlyn said as they reached the alcove in the Gallows where the other three were waiting. Her voice had an edge. “If you felt that you had to escort him, you and the Knight-Captain may step back now while I have this conversation.”

Meredith sneered back. “Do you imagine that I will not insist upon knowing what you said to him when we return to the Circle quarters?”

“You know,” Anders put in as an aside to her, “maybe it’s best to say it to her face, all things considered.”

“And in front of Cullen, for good measure,” added Varric.

Caitlyn considered their words for a moment before nodding. “That’s a good point. All right,” she said, turning back to the others, “let’s not waste any time. First Enchanter Orsino... I have obtained evidence that about two years ago, you conspired with the murderous blood mage Quentin, known as the Butcher of Lowtown—whom my friends and I killed while he was attempting to make my mother and probably my son his final victims.” She drew out the incriminating note and held it before his eyes. “You wrote this, didn’t you?”

Orsino closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them again and faced her resignedly. “Yes,” he said. “I did. He was working with interesting magic....”

“Interesting magic,” she repeated mockingly. “I recall _telling_ you that this is exactly what happens when mages—when _people_ —are locked up and frightened into never loving anyone again. They think that killing people for body parts and stitching them together is ‘interesting magic’!”

“He did not kill your son or your mother,” Orsino said, “and I swear before the Maker, I did not know that he was stalking her.”

“So the victims he did kill don’t matter? Why, because I was a resident of Hightown by then, and they were from Lowtown?” She sneered in disgust. “This makes me sick.”

Cullen had drawn back, eyes wide and shocked. Meredith, Caitlyn noticed, did _not_ appear surprised. That confirmed it for her. Furiously she turned to the Knight-Commander. “And _you_ knew it!” she said savagely. “I knew you were threatening him into siding with you on the votes—and this is how, isn’t it? You are blackmailing him!”

For a moment Meredith was too stunned to respond. Cullen drew back even farther, gazing from Caitlyn to Meredith warily, unsure whom to believe or trust now. Orsino looked defeated for that moment, but in the next, he steeled himself, newfound courage appearing in his eyes. “That is exactly right,” he said, suddenly fixing the Knight-Commander with a defiant glare.

That jolted Meredith out of her momentary stupor. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes gleamed oddly. “You lie,” she seethed. “You  _lie!”_ She turned to Caitlyn, Anders, and Varric, arrogant smugness in her posture. “Whatever this admitted blood mage criminal says, you have no proof, and the word of a maleficar is worthless!” She raised her hand sharply, the reek of lyrium suddenly filling the air surrounding her.

Anders tried to pull Caitlyn away as she readied her staff, but he was not fast enough. The shock wave of an unnaturally powerful Holy Smite blasted both of them backward even as Orsino tumbled back in the opposite direction.

Caitlyn slammed hard on the pavement. She felt her tailbone fracture from the fall, and the inertia of motion was too strong to fight. She tumbled backward, only just keeping her head from slamming stone. Her staff clattered from her hands uselessly—not that she had any mana available to use anymore.

Then a throbbing, piercing pain shot from her lower abdomen.

She was vaguely aware of the shouting, a cacophony of male voices yelling. A scream of horror and agony in a voice that she recognized as Orsino’s, ending in a gurgle. Three other male voices, all of them heated and utterly outraged. She didn’t know if Cullen was yelling at Meredith or at Anders, but he was furious with someone.  _Anders,_ she thought, clutching her abdomen. “Help,” she cried, her voice a croak. She couldn’t even get up from the pavement, she was so disoriented from the Smite and the slam against the ground. “Anders, help,  _please!”_

The yelling intensified, especially Cullen’s and Varric’s voices, at the sound of her cry. _I’m going to lose the baby,_ she thought in misery. _I’m going to lose her—and Anders was hit by the Smite too. He can’t help me. We’re going to lose her. Meredith killed her. She killed our baby, just like that._ The wave of choking despair overwhelmed her, and she burst into tears.

Blazing blue light then filled her tear-blurred field of vision, and a shadow darkened the harsh sun. She felt a familiar sensation...  _the sensation of a healing spell,_ she thought.  _But how? How could he have recovered so fast?_ She wiped her eyes and found herself facing the piercing, icy gaze of her husband’s companion spirit.

“Justice,” she whispered. The spirit was casting spells, drawing on its own Fade energy. Without a word, Anders—Justice—cast another powerful healing spell, focusing the wave of magic at her lower belly like a lens focusing a beam of sunlight. The pain that she was feeling subsided somewhat.

“She’ll see you,” Caitlyn burst out in a whisper. “You can’t let them see!”

“Shh. They are not looking at us.”

Another wave of panic overtook her. “Anders, the baby! I felt her dying—I felt pain there—the fall ripped her loose, ripped from inside my body—”

“That hasn’t happened,” he said, his tones those of the spirit, though quiet. “I reached out with healing magic to sense it. You are bleeding inside, but she is still attached. You have to try to be calm.”

“I can’t....” She began to breathe heavily from the panic. “Anders—”

He was silent for a moment before facing her with a sad look, even though the spirit still possessed him. “This panic is endangering her further. If you cannot relax, I will have to send you to sleep.”

That only increased her fear. “Anders, please, if you can’t save her, please don’t let them burn her without letting me have the chance to hold her... just one time....” Tears formed again.

“I’m going to save her,” he said resolutely, bathing her abdomen in another highly focused spell.

She breathed, feeling the pain lessen further. “But if you can’t... please promise me.”

“I promise. But I _will_ save her. I’ll wake you up when it is safe.” With that, he readied a spell and sent her into a deep, restful sleep.

He continued to cast spells at her abdomen, focusing on her alone even though the body of the First Enchanter lay just feet away from them. There was nothing that he could do for Orsino now, and attacking Meredith for what she had done, however much she deserved it, would take him away from his duty to Caitlyn and their unborn daughter who was fighting to hold on.  _It would be an injustice against our family to put violent revenge ahead of them,_ he thought, or Justice thought, or they thought together, as he cast spells to heal her, all the while making sure that the Templars could not see his face.

Varric approached him hesitantly, blanching as he saw that Caitlyn was not conscious and that Anders was focusing on this specific area of her body. “Is she all right?” he said, clearly afraid to hear the answer.

“They are both all right, for now,” Anders replied in Justice’s voice. “I will need help carrying her home. I do not need to compress this part of her body and I cannot carry her by myself without doing so.”

“Sure thing,” the dwarf said, relieved. He glowered at Meredith, who was engaged in a heated argument with Cullen. “Will it be safe to move her soon?”

He cast one more blast of blue magic, then breathed deeply as Justice ceded control. His eyes turned amber again and the spirit-light faded. “It’s safe to move her now. She needs to be in a bed.” He glared malevolently at the Templars. “If this didn’t work, or if it did and there is  _anything_ wrong with my daughter... Meredith is dead. I mean it. She  _knew_ that Caitlyn was pregnant and she did that on purpose. I just know she did.”

Varric did not disagree. He and Anders gently lifted Caitlyn’s sleeping form from the ground, keeping her as horizontal as they could to avoid putting pressure on her womb.

Cullen shot a final furious glare at Meredith before shuffling away from her. He approached them, looking distraught. “I am so sorry,” he burst out. “Is Her Grace all right? And the little one....”

Anders was not looking for his sympathies. “I don’t know why you care, Templar, but yes, she is all right. It remains to be seen about the baby.” That was a bit misleading; his spells had stopped the miscarriage, but he  _would_ have to provide a regular healing regimen for Caitlyn to make sure that the pregnancy continued healthily and that their daughter did not suffer permanent damage from this. But Cullen did not need to know that, he thought spitefully.

Varric kept Caitlyn’s feet lifted, walking behind Anders. As they left the Gallows, he gave the Knight-Captain a parting glance of apology. Cullen stared back, looking utterly wretched.

* * *

The guards were shocked when the Viscountess’s husband and friend carried her in unconscious. “What happened to Her Grace?” one exclaimed.

“Meredith Stannard cast a Holy Smite against the First Enchanter—and then _killed_ him—and did it with the Viscountess standing close at hand,” Anders said, seething but taking a perverse kind of pleasure in saying it, knowing it would infuriate them.

The guards exclaimed in outrage. “She’s out of control,” muttered a guard darkly. “Doing that in the presence of the Viscountess, knowing she is a mage and is pregnant—and what was the problem with the First Enchanter?”

“She silenced him,” Anders replied with a glance back, continuing to carry Caitlyn to the private quarters. “He knew something against her and she killed him to silence him.” Leaving the guards to their indignation, he took down the wards on the inner Keep and carried Caitlyn inside with Varric.

They took her into the master bedroom and lifted her gently onto the soft, luxurious bed. Varric gazed at her for a moment, pity in his face. “I’ll leave you to it,” he grunted. “Do you want me to get the lad?”

Anders considered for a moment before nodding. “People are going to talk, and it’s best that he hear from me first.”

Varric nodded and left to find Mal. As soon as he was gone and Anders was alone with Caitlyn, the magnitude of what had just happened struck him, overwhelming his emotions. Tears formed in his eyes and began to pour down his cheeks, and choking sobs overtook him. He crawled on the mattress and leaned over Caitlyn’s abdomen, lifting the tunic she wore to kiss the bump through his tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, aware that his daughter could not hear him or understand him even if she had been able to hear, but needing to say it. “I couldn’t protect you... I couldn’t stop that... but please, please keep fighting.” In an obsessive, almost manic rush, he cast a healing spell again, then another and another, the fear that he would lose her—or that she would be permanently maimed—if he did not cast this spell, then _this_ one, then _this,_ taking over him. He shook and trembled as his mana finally ran out again, then lay down beside Caitlyn, curling against her and placing a hand over the bump as if he could protect them by doing that.

This moment was interrupted by the distraught, panicked shouts of a young boy. Mal burst into the bedroom, eyes wide with fear. Varric hovered in the hallway, backing away and pulling the door gently to give the family their privacy. “Mother!” Mal exclaimed as Anders sat upright. The sight of Anders’ tear-stained face sent the child into despair. “Oh  _no!”_ he exclaimed. “You’ve been crying. Mother... is Mother going to die? Tell me the truth,” he begged his father.

Anders wiped his face and tried to calm himself. “She is not going to die,” he said, projecting utter confidence as he spoke. “I promise you, son. Your mother is going to be fine.”

“But....”

Anders closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself for this. “You wanted the truth and you have the right to know. Your sister is the one in danger. Your mother was knocked over by the Knight-Commander, and that can cause a pregnant woman to lose the pregnancy. And sometimes babies are fine if they are born early, but your sister is too young to survive yet.” When Mal gasped in fear, Anders added, “I am trying to save your little sister and heal the injuries she may have suffered when your mother fell.”

Mal whimpered and moved forward to Anders’ outstretched arms. Anders enveloped his son in a tight hug. “I will do everything I can,” he whispered, rubbing Mal’s back tenderly. “I promise.”

* * *

Caitlyn awakened in an hour. As she came to, she noticed that she was in her bedroom at the Keep. They had carried her home. Mal was there as well, sitting in a chair, gazing fixedly at his mother, fear in his eyes.

The first thing she did was feel her abdomen. The bump was still present... but she was not sure if it would go away immediately if... if....

“I’ve been with you the whole time,” Anders said quietly, “casting healing spells periodically. She’s still there, love. You may notice some blood, but your internal bleeding has stopped, you are still carrying her, and she’s fighting back.”

A shuddering sob burst from her. “Anders,” she whispered. “You... she really is still there? I haven’t lost her?”

“She is still there. While you were asleep, I cast some additional spells to diagnose the... situation... and most of the damage was not to her. It was to the placenta... the afterbirth, though that’s not an accurate term right now....” He trailed off, aware that he was rambling from his own anxiety. “If you had fallen forward... I am not sure I could have saved her. But as it was, I think she was just jostled. It shouldn’t be permanent. She is still fragile, and we have to be careful. I’ll need to cast focused healing spells and you’ll need to take potions several times a day for the next several days, and I don’t think you need to walk about much while that is going on... but the immediate danger has passed.”

Caitlyn let out her breath, relief washing over her at his words. Their daughter was still alive within her after all. Meredith had not killed her. “You saved her, then,” she said. “You have saved everyone still alive in this family at some point, love. Every one of us.”

In spite of the unease, fear, and increasing fury that Anders was feeling, a gentle smile formed on his face at her words.

* * *

Over the next week, Caitlyn stayed in her own quarters, going only to the bath and her private study, both of which adjoined the master bedroom. She did not feel much pain from her own injuries anymore, just a mild bruising, but she was petrified of moving too much and too abruptly while her unborn daughter was in a fragile state. The pets frequently joined her to keep her company, even Pounce. True to his word, Anders left the Keep clinic several times a day to bring her a fresh potion and cast a healing and a diagnostic spell at her to speed the process of recovery and ensure that it was proceeding as they hoped. Mal always accompanied his father, watching with a solemn gaze as Anders worked.

The first night, Leandra, Charade, and all of the couple’s friends and companions visited, even Fenris, who had apparently forgiven them for listening to Danarius—or had set it aside in view of the fact that Danarius was dead and Caitlyn had almost lost her baby, not because of a mage’s spell, but because of the deed of a Templar. Leandra was distraught when she burst into the master bedroom, immediately giving Anders a smothering hug and then rushing toward Caitlyn as she rested in bed.

“My poor dear,” Leandra cried, giving Caitlyn a brief hug, not wanting to encourage her to move too much. “I’m so, so sorry that this happened. I never suffered this. I never feared _this._ I cannot even imagine what it is like.”

“Anders was able to prevent me from miscarrying,” Caitlyn said quietly. “I have to be careful over the next few days, though.”

“Of course,” Leandra agreed. She gave Anders a tender look, then turned back to her daughter. “And the First Enchanter! The poor man! Why did she do it? What was she thinking?”

“Aunt,” Charade said quietly, giving Leandra a look of dismay that she would mention this aspect of it so soon.

“No, it’s all right,” Caitlyn said to her cousin, her voice harder. “I don’t mind talking about that. Meredith cast the Smite because Anders and I had gone to confront Orsino about the fact that he corresponded with the man who was hunting women, including you, Mother.”

Leandra shuddered. “That was a rumor... I hoped it wasn’t true....”

“It is true,” she said harshly. “And I am almost certain it is also true that Meredith knew this and was using it to blackmail Orsino into taking her side whenever I held a vote to change policies about mages and Templars. The Knight-Captain was there and he was shocked to hear about Orsino. Meredith was not shocked. And as soon as Orsino said that he was being blackmailed, she cast the Holy Smite, not caring in the least that I was right there.” She decided not to mention the fact that Anders had also been caught in it, because that might require an explanation of how he was able to use magic to heal her so quickly. A quick shared glance with him told her that he understood.

He then spoke up. “She didn’t care in the least... or she did it on purpose _because_ Caitlyn was right there, a mage, with child.”

Leandra gasped. “Surely she wouldn’t....”

Anders stifled a scoff for Caitlyn’s sake, since this was her mother. “You don’t know her as we do, Lady Hawke—and you are lucky in that, but oh yes, she would. Silencing the First Enchanter may have been the main point, but I am sure she was waiting for an opportunity to attack Cait. This gave her one.”

A shadow passed over Caitlyn’s face at these words.

Once her mother, cousin, and friends had left, and Mal had gone to his bedroom, she turned to Anders. “We got him killed,” she said quietly. “Now that the immediate danger for me has passed, I thought about it. We caused his death. It’s yet more blood dripping from my crown.”

He did not like this turn of her thoughts at all. Climbing on the bed and resting beside her, he placed an arm gently around her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “He made the choice to conspire with that murderer, and Meredith made the choice to execute him. You didn’t do this.”

“He would be alive if we had not gone there.”

“Cait,” he urged her, “you told me five years ago that I was not responsible for the evil that other people did, that even if it was possible that some people might have been alive if... certain things hadn’t happened... it was not my fault if others killed them. This wasn’t something that we could have anticipated.”

“Maybe we should have,” she said bitterly. “We knew what Meredith was. We should have prepared for the worst.”

“It didn’t even occur to _me_ that she might summarily execute the First Enchanter in front of us,” he said. “We know _now_ that she is capable of anything, but....” He trailed off.

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “How many people are going to die for the cause? How much blood will there be in my wake even if I am not directly responsible for all of it? That’s what upsets me, love. Even when it may be unavoidable, it still hurts.”

His heart went out to her. “I know,” he whispered, hugging her carefully. “I know. It does hurt. But it’s all right to let it hurt. It’s all right to doubt, so long as that doubt doesn’t take away hope and motivation.”

She considered his words, finally nodding. “You’re right.”

* * *

On the second day, an unexpected guest arrived at the Keep, bearing a potted plant. Donnic Hendyr reluctantly admitted Cullen Rutherford into the Keep, aware that Anders—who, with Caitlyn’s approval, was overseeing the household for the time being—would not like it, but unwilling to turn the man away himself.

He was not wrong. When he showed Cullen into Anders’ clinic, the mage took one look at the Knight-Captain before breathing heavily to try to control his ire. He nodded curtly to the guardsman, dismissing him, and took Mal gently by the shoulder. “Son... go to your room or the library for a moment, would you? I need to talk privately with this Templar.”

Mal gazed with wide eyes at Cullen. He knew that his father was seething, but he was not sure why—it seemed that the Templar had brought the plant as a gift for Mother, which was nice, but... _oh._ Understanding, he nodded at once and scampered away.

Breaking away from the Healers whom he was supervising, Anders stormed toward Cullen, grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him out of the clinic, closing the doors behind them. Fury was written in every line of his face. “Why are you here?” he demanded.

Cullen was taken aback. “I brought this for the Viscountess,” he protested. “Is she all right? And... the baby?”

“She is all right, and the baby— _our daughter—_ is holding on,” Anders said between clenched teeth. “You can tell your boss that she’ll have to try again.”

Cullen got angry at this. He set the plant down on a nearby table and glared at Anders. “I didn’t agree with what she did,” he spat. “She was out of line. There was no need... Orsino wasn’t threatening anyone... and to do that in the presence of a pregnant woman, a pregnant mage, our Viscountess....”

“She did it on purpose _because_ Caitlyn is a pregnant mage,” Anders said recklessly, not caring about using her proper name in front of an outsider. “And I’m not interested in the sympathies of a Templar, especially the Knight-Captain. Your sympathy and your anger mean _nothing_ to me if you won’t _do_ anything about Meredith.”

“What do you think I can do?” Cullen exclaimed. “Legally, what can I do?”

Anders saw his point, but he was still not inclined to back down. Seeing Cullen Rutherford, whom he had known in the Fereldan Circle during the worst time of his life—when he was kept from Caitlyn and Mal—set off something dark and angry within him, something that refused to be tempered. “You won’t act because you hate mages too,” he retorted defiantly.  _“That’s_ why, and that is the  _only_ reason why.”

“What in the Void is your problem with me?” Cullen exploded, his own patience finally gone. “There are times when I think you hate me more than you hate her, and I cannot understand why! I did not know about Alrik. I never did anything to you in Kinloch Hold. I’ve never hurt your family, either.”

“Haven’t you?” Anders replied. He glowered at Cullen. “You made the mages Tranquil, didn’t you? Caitlyn’s second cousin, Enchanter Amell....”

“That’s what you think?” he said in disbelief. “No—I didn’t make them Tranquil. When mages failed the Harrowing and became abominations, I was sometimes assigned to give them merciful deaths. A few times, before the blood mage coven took over. I didn’t do anything to your wife’s cousin.”

Anders turned aside, unable to meet Cullen’s eyes for a moment. As furious and upset as it still made him to think of that, he knew that it was an excuse right now. He had remembered that Cullen had been the Templar waiting outside the chamber for his own Harrowing. But he could not say what the true problem was, because acknowledging it embarrassed him.

“I didn’t come here to have _my_ sympathies praised, in any case,” Cullen continued, his voice calmer. “This isn’t about me. I came to give your family this plant, to wish health to her and the baby, and to apologize for the Knight-Commander’s despicable behavior again, since she will never do it herself.”

Anders eyed the plant, with its pale cerulean bell-shaped blossoms and bright red stamens. “That is a crystal grace plant. It has healing properties. Is that why you chose it? We have plenty of potions already, and I _am_ a master Spirit Healer,” he said pointedly.

“Of course,” the Templar agreed, sounding relieved to discuss the plant and not relive times that were unpleasant for both of them. “That wasn’t why I chose it. I just thought that Her Grace would think it pretty... and there is also a story about them....”

“A story,” Anders repeated skeptically.

“A fable. I read about it in a botanical book. An Orlesian noblewoman had them planted throughout her gardens and decided that she wanted hers to ring like bells... so she hired a Circle mage to enchant them to do that.” Oblivious to the glower that had again formed on Anders’ face at these words, Cullen continued. “And when she got sick of the noise, she set fire to her gardens!”

Anders spoke up again, rage seething from his words once more. “How dare you? Get out,” he snarled. “Leave the Keep and take the plant with you!”

Cullen stared at Anders in surprise. “I wasn’t finished! I didn’t mean.... The lesson was that the plant is perfect as the Maker created it!  _That_ was why I chose it!”

Anders was struck silent as the implications hit him. He glanced quickly around, collapsing in the closest chair when he saw that there was one nearby, and buried his face in his hands. He was able to see just enough between his fingers to note that Cullen sat down in a second chair, staying mercifully silent.

Finally he raised his head. “Perfect as the Maker created it,” he repeated, unable to look Cullen in the eye.

Cullen nodded. “That was my reason. It didn’t occur to me that the fable might sound like something else at first. I’m sorry about that.”

Anders released a shuddering sigh. After several seconds of silence, he spoke again. “The middle of Dragon 9:27 through 9:30, when I was shut up in the Circle, was the worst time of my life,” he said quietly. “I knew that she was out there. I knew that she had lost her father to death at the same time that she lost me to capture, and I wasn’t there for her when she was grieving and pregnant. And for a long time, I didn’t know if our son was alive... if she had lost  _him_ due to the other traumas and suffering. This is not the first time I have had to fear that the woman I love might lose our child,” he said miserably.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said quietly. “I can’t imagine.”

“And that was when _you_ came to Kinloch Hold,” he added. “You were there. And then, when I thought I had left behind all the Fereldan Templars... when I thought I was making a fresh start in Kirkwall with her and our son....”

“I was here.”

Anders nodded without a word.

Cullen sighed, rubbing his head. “I saw horrible things in Kinloch Hold, Anders—my lord, I mean. Warden. What should I....”

“Just call me Anders here.”

“Very well. You had escaped, so you didn’t see what I saw. Almost all of the adult mages, slain or turned into abominations against their will, because of a few blood mages. I was confined by a demon myself, my Templar training useless against it. This demon tortured me.” He shuddered. “It got into my mind. It violated my mind, and the kinds of thoughts it forced upon me....” He broke off, shaking his head as if to clear it of those memories. “When the Blight was over, I was reassigned to Kirkwall to get me away from that place and the bad memories that might get triggered by being there. I too looked at Kirkwall as a fresh start. And the Knight-Commander seemed to have the right idea about how to prevent something like that from happening here.”

“The First Enchanter conspired with a murderer,” Anders pointed out. “With no hope for anything else in life but the Circle walls, no family, no one to love—because they are _afraid_ to love, afraid that it will be used to hurt them—this is what a few desperate people will turn to.”

Cullen sighed again, unwilling to concede Anders’ point, but also unwilling to argue to the contrary. “She has changed,” he said abruptly. “You probably have never liked or approved of her, but she is... different.”

Anders rose from his seat, scowling again. “You asked earlier what you could do. If she has symptoms of lyrium sickness, telling people about it—telling the Divine—is something that you could do.”

“I don’t know if that’s it. I’ve seen lyrium sickness, and this is... different and worse, somehow. I can’t describe it.” He gazed at Anders. “I assume the Viscountess means to tell the Divine about this latest... incident.”

Anders actually did not know if Caitlyn had thought about that yet, and he definitely hadn’t, but he did not mind speaking for her now that Cullen had mentioned it. If she hadn’t thought about it, she would agree with the idea when he repeated it to her. “She does,” he said firmly. “This is unacceptable.”

“I agree. And I will back you up if you need my word to make sure that the Divine punishes the Knight-Commander for this.”

Anders nodded. “Thank you for the plant. I’ll tell the fable to her. The whole thing,” he added with a wry, somewhat forced smile.

“You’re welcome,” Cullen said. “I hope she and the baby will be all right.”

When he was gone, Anders fingered a blossom of the plant, considering. Mal would want to go back to the clinic. He was probably very impatient, and Anders did not mean to keep his son waiting for much longer, but he did have one last thing to do. He took a quick detour to his private office and unlocked his desk drawer.

He was searching for a particular document, which it did not take long to find: the list of Meredith’s cronies and supporters among the Templars that Ser Thrask had compiled for him. Considering for a moment, he dipped a quill in the inkwell before scratching a thick, black line through Cullen’s name.

* * *

“I cannot figure him out,” Caitlyn said later when Anders had told her about the crystal grace plant, Cullen’s fable about it, and the fact that Meredith had finally gone too far for him. “The plant is lovely, and the story is nice—once we realize it’s not a magic-bashing fable,” she said wryly. “What he implied he finally seems to believe is nice too, but I don’t understand him. He changed his mind about Ser Keran and talked to Leliana to confirm the Knight-Vigilant’s words... but then he turned up on Thrask’s list as a supporter of Meredith.”

“I crossed him off,” Anders admitted.

Varric, who was present, spoke up. “Perhaps he’s undergoing a change of mind currently and that’s why it’s confusing. He might not know where he stands either, just that it’s not beside Meredith.”

She nodded. “That could be it. I’m just furious that it took the _murder_ of Orsino—which is what it was—and me almost losing the baby for him to see.”

“Horrific mage suffering always seems to be necessary for others to see the problem,” growled Anders. “I’m sick of it. I’m sick of a lot of things.”

Mal was also there, standing close to his mother. “Is my little sister all right now?” he said.

“For the most part,” said Anders. “Your mother still has to be careful and take her potions.” He gazed at Mal sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry that you have had to grow up seeing... all of this.”

“We both are,” Caitlyn said in somber tones.

The boy hugged her carefully, then drew away at once, clearly afraid of hugging her around the waist too hard. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m tough.”

In spite of themselves, they smiled, as did Varric. “I guess so,” she said.

“Did you send the letter to Val Royeaux?” Varric asked after a moment.

Caitlyn nodded. “If Justinia won’t do anything to Meredith after  _this,_ I’m giving up on her—and I will tell Leliana as much. Enough is enough.”

* * *

Toward the end of that week, others from Caitlyn’s inner circle came to visit, including her Small Council. Mistress Selby, the leader of the Mage Underground, was especially outraged by the news.

“She destroyed my sister,” Selby seethed. “She made my sister Tranquil, but most people do not mind _that._ She turned a blind eye to the rape of children at the Gallows. But that does not seem to sate her bloodlust, and now, she is trying to slaughter the children of mages in the womb! Is there no limit?”

“For her personally? I doubt it,” Anders said.

“She also denied the First Enchanter his trial!” Selby exclaimed. “That was something that the Grand Cleric commanded, the right to a Chantry trial.”

“You know, that’s an excellent point,” Caitlyn said with a frown. “I should have included that in my letter to the Divine... but I’ll tell the Grand Cleric.” Her gaze hardened. “I am not going to the Gallows again unless it is with the entire City Guard surrounding me, but I _am_ going to summon _her_ to the Keep to answer for herself once I am recovered. The Circle is supposed to have a new First Enchanter too, and I haven’t heard a word that one has been appointed. If she won’t pick one, I’ll have the Circle mages do it.”

* * *

About a week later, on the day of Meredith’s hearing at the Keep, Caitlyn made sure that her appearance was as intimidating as possible. She wore her best red and black gown, which she had worn to the moot that voted for her as Viscountess and at the Landsmeet of Ferelden, and had her hair done up in a complicated crown of small coiled braids, curls, and a regal bun. Making sure to wear the diadem of Kirkwall and keep her most elaborate staff at hand, she sat at the table, where her chair was raised higher than everyone else’s.

The Knight-Commander marched defiantly into the chamber, her face pinched and angry. Caitlyn made her most menacing glare. “Take your seat,” she said coldly to Meredith as the latter approached. Meredith sneered back but complied. Glowering, Caitlyn began. “Meredith Stannard, Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, you are here to answer for your actions thirteen days ago on the steps of the Gallows, summarily executing the late First Enchanter Orsino without a trial or a hearing, and immediately prior, performing a Holy Smite on him in the close proximity of two innocent mages, including me—knowing very well that I am with child.”

“Are you not mentioning the outrageous accusation you made against me, then?” Meredith retorted.

A dark smile formed on Caitlyn’s face. “Oh, we can discuss that too. I welcome that discussion,” she said. “But first, the facts that are beyond any dispute whatever. You were reckless and likely malicious in your actions, and you attacked the Viscountess of Kirkwall.”

Meredith bared her teeth for a moment, glaring back at Caitlyn like a predator. “I was protecting Your Grace from an admitted blood mage.”

Grand Cleric Petrice, looking indignant and affronted, spoke. “You defied my edict that mages accused of crimes shall have the right to appeal to priests.”

“That edict applies to mages who deny their guilt,” said Meredith.

“Or might not _be_ guilty,” muttered Anders.

Meredith sneered at him before continuing. “It does not apply to mages who admit their crimes, as the late First Enchanter did.”

“Orsino did not admit to blood magic practice,” retorted Caitlyn.

“He admitted to conspiring with a known maleficar, murderer, and apostate,” said Meredith. “He admitted to writing a letter to the depraved killer saying that he was leaving books in a secret location and referring to himself as a ‘friend and colleague’ of the killer. He waived his ‘right’ to an appeal.”

“You know a great deal about the contents of a single letter that you saw only briefly,” Caitlyn said menacingly. “But let us return to _that_ later. Even if Orsino did waive his right to an appeal—which I still maintain is debatable—you cast a Holy Smite powerful enough to knock three mages backward when he was not threatening anyone. You did this in my presence, the Viscountess of Kirkwall, and you _knew_ that I was five months pregnant. Am,” she amended. “Fortunately Anders is a Spirit Healer, and the spirit who aids him helped renew his magic. If I had lost this baby, your position would be much worse.”

Meredith met Caitlyn’s glare with her own. “I struck down a blood mage who conspired with another blood mage who had threatened your own mother. It is hardly my fault that you were standing too close. Since you had evidence against him, you should not have been so near when you confronted him, for fear of what  _he_ would do, if nothing else. That is nothing to do with me.”

Anders looked ready to strike  _her_ down at this. Noticing his fury, Caitlyn placed a hand gently on his thigh under the table. He breathed in and out, trying to calm himself.

“We’ll see what Divine Justinia has to say about your conduct,” Caitlyn said, a falsely sweet smile on her face. “Orsino did nothing to threaten me. _You_ are the one whose actions threatened me and threatened the life of my innocent unborn baby. And on the subject of Orsino....”

“Your husband and this dwarf were there,” she interrupted rudely, gesturing at Anders and Varric, “but no one else in this Council was. Do they know that you baselessly accused me of keeping Orsino’s secret for blackmail—to coerce him into siding with me in the little votes you would hold for the Circle?”

“He said you had done it.”

“He said it because he knew you and your husband would believe any mage and disbelieve any Templar! No one else will believe the desperate claim of a maleficar who knew I was about to punish him for his crimes.”

“Your behavior is also suspect,” Caitlyn shot back. “Although Cullen was shocked, you were not—and again, just now, you seem to remember the contents of that single letter awfully well, especially since you only saw it for a few seconds. It’s almost as if you had already seen others,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. Around her, the members of her Council shifted uneasily.

“You have no proof of this preposterous accusation,” Meredith spat, her posture defensive and closed. “I was not shocked because I am surprised by nothing that mages do. I see the threat with clearer eyes than most!”

“You are determined to be antagonistic, aren’t you, saying that in the presence of two mages, one of whom is _your Viscountess.”_

“I am a servant of the Chantry, not a subject of Kirkwall.”

“You truly believe that,” Caitlyn said in awe. “You really think that you can do as you please. Well, Knight-Commander, you are _wrong.”_ She gestured to Aveline, who got up from her seat and went to the door, awaiting further instruction. “The Grand Cleric and I asked some questions of the Circle this week. You have not appointed a new First Enchanter, nor have you permitted the Circle mages to hold a vote to choose one themselves.”

“After this latest discovery of blood magic high in the ranks, I do not trust any of them, and I will not permit it without investigating all of them.”

“Nonetheless, by Divine order, the Circle mages of Kirkwall have the right to a representative in the group of four who can vote on changes. If there is no First Enchanter, or if they do not want the First Enchanter to be that vote, they may choose someone else—and they have done so. Guard-Captain,” she said to Aveline, who opened the door.

Alain of Starkhaven, leader of the Arcane Guard, stood in the threshold, Cullen Rutherford beside him. Meredith drew back and hissed in surprise. She glared at Cullen in outrage. “You!” she exploded. “You let this happen!”

Cullen gazed back evenly. “Divine order, Knight-Commander.”

“I should have known after you raised your voice to me that day!” Meredith exclaimed. “After you had the temerity to yell at me for performing a sacred duty of the Templar Order!”

“That’s enough,” Caitlyn said harshly. “The Circle mages have voted for Enchanter Alain to speak for them, and I have informed Divine Justinia of this. She may choose to appoint him First Enchanter herself.” She rose from her seat abruptly, smiling at Meredith in checkmate. “You had best hope that we don’t find any hard evidence that you knew about Orsino’s dealings, because if the Divine doesn’t sack you for what you have already done, she certainly will for that.” With a final dark smile, she moved to dismiss the hearing.

* * *

In the coming weeks, as she continued to recover and waited for Justinia to respond, Caitlyn had a lot to think about, and her thoughts were very troubled.

The first thing that she did after the Circle mages chose Alain was to hold a vote again to ban separation of mage relatives—or mage and Templar relatives—from each other in Kirkwall and to request the reassignment of all mages elsewhere in Thedas who were related to a Kirkwall mage, if they so wished to relocate. Alain voted for it without hesitation, and with three out of four votes, the motion finally passed, even as Meredith’s face contorted with rage at having been outmaneuvered.

It should have felt like a victory to Caitlyn—but it didn’t. That evening, after the vote, she talked about it with Anders, with Mal sitting across from them in the sitting room reading a book, and then she realized why. She got up and gazed out the tall windows, gesturing discreetly for Anders to join her.

“When I first began to plan everything four years ago, it was theoretical,” she said quietly, so that Mal could not overhear. “It seemed like such a clean, neat plan—ally with the ruthlessly ambitious priest who didn’t mind mages, get Elthina out, become Viscountess, make gradual, piecemeal reforms to the Circle, and everything would work out just fine.” She gazed quickly back at their son, then down at the bump that still, thankfully, grew.

Anders squeezed her hands sympathetically.

“But the reality has been different. We didn’t even know for sure that Mal was a mage until after I returned from the trip to that Warden fortress. It’s different now that he’s over eight and a half years old and I’m _still_ fighting for every scrap of minor change to the Circle itself, let alone radical changes. Let alone the notion that mage children don’t have to be taught there if they have other options or that they should have the freedom to live normal lives no matter what their skills.” She closed her eyes briefly and placed her hands over her bump for a moment, then lifted them and gazed at Anders again. “Meredith is still here, and if nothing changes, our son will be sent to her Circle someday. She almost _killed_ this one, this baby that for years we didn’t think we could have. Our baby almost died, and she would have if not for Justice. I am sure that today’s reform will mean a lot to some mages, and I am glad for that, but it’s not good enough anymore, Anders. The theoretical plan has not worked out as I hoped—and I should have known that it wouldn’t; plans never do work out exactly as we intend. My hands are bloody from all I’ve done and overseen, and for scraps! I have come to think, now, that you were right all along.”

“How so?” he asked, holding her.

“I should have demanded everything at once,” she said. “Now, the moment has passed. The enemy has mustered its forces in opposition and they _still_ have the upper hand in many ways. And the woman who should be our most powerful ally doesn’t want to use hard power.”

He pulled her close, stroking the back of her head as he tried to comfort her. “What do you think we should do?” he asked frankly. “We can’t give up.”

“No, we cannot,” she agreed, drawing away. “I think that I’m going to have to change people’s minds by changing what they are used to. Sometimes change comes from the top down rather than the bottom up, and this may be one of those times. Now that I have Alain, I’m going to push for everything I can. But that still only tinkers at the edges. For the big things, things like making Circles optional or removing them from Chantry authority, the Divine has to do that. And in the latter case, I seriously doubt that she intends to.”

Anders squeezed her hands again and gazed ahead into the night sky with her. He could not argue with that, and he did not know what to tell her.

* * *

The next day, a messenger from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux came to the Keep to deliver a messages. His fellows had already paid visits to the Chantry and the Gallows, he informed her as he presented his scroll to Caitlyn.

“Your Grace,” he bowed. “Message from Divine Justinia. Most Holy extends her prayers and sympathies to your family.”

With a pounding heart, Caitlyn accepted the message and thanked him, directing him to a small room to relax and refresh. She opened the scroll and read it quickly, then again. Even then, she was not sure how to feel about it.

“I need to call a Council meeting,” she murmured to herself.

* * *

By the time of the surprise meeting that she called for that afternoon, rather than the next morning, most of the Small Council members had already heard the news—or some version of it. For the sake of clearing up inaccurate rumors, Caitlyn decided to open with a full account of the facts.

“All right,” she said, opening the message from Justinia. “As you may know, today, we received word that the Divine has reprimanded Meredith.”

“Reprimanded,” Anders said under his breath, shaking his head. Across the table, Mistress Selby also looked extremely dissatisfied.

“She warned Meredith that if I had lost the baby, or if she does anything like this again when lesser force will suffice, then she would be relieved of her duties. It’s something,” she muttered. She was not very pleased herself.

“It’s barely anything, with all due respect, Your Grace,” said Selby. “What of the First Enchanter? She did not need to kill him. What of the allegation that she was keeping his secret to coerce him?”

“The Divine wrote that she could not punish Meredith specifically for her act against an admitted maleficar,” Petrice said, defending Justinia. “She also said that in the absence of solid proof that Meredith knew of it in advance, there was nothing that she could do about that—but she said that she authorizes us to investigate it if we want and that she forbids Meredith from interfering.”

“As if we don’t have anything else to do?” Anders exclaimed. “Orsino is dead. What does it matter anymore if she was blackmailing him—unless Justinia is willing to use proof of it as a pretext for sacking Meredith. Would she?” he asked bitterly. “Would she even do _that?”_

“I understand that you are still upset and shaken about what happened to the Viscountess and your unborn child,” said the priest, “but you need to mind your tongue, Lord Consort. Her Perfection is a holy woman and is not your enemy.”

Anders looked for a moment as if he wanted to smash the head of his staff into Petrice’s face. Caitlyn quickly intervened, taking control of her Council again. “That’s quite enough,” she said. “None of us are each other’s enemy here. Returning to the letter, and the subject of the First Enchanter position, it also said that she officially confirmed Enchanter Alain in that post.”

“And what does that change?” said Selby. “He already represents the Circle mages.”

“It makes it official,” said Caitlyn, “and he’s an unconventional choice. He escaped Starkhaven’s Circle and lived as an apostate for a while. He joined the Arcane Guard. He has a nontraditional experience, just as I do, and it does mean something that the Divine affirmed a person like that as First Enchanter. She didn’t have to, but she did anyway, and it does send a message.”

“We need more than messages,” Anders said quietly, unable to look up.

After Caitlyn dismissed the meeting, Anders and Mistress Selby waited behind to speak with her. Anders spoke first.

“She said that she welcomed Alain’s ‘loyalty to the Circle,’ since he went there with Thrask,” he said, almost spitting the words. “Loyalty to the Circle. Maybe she said it to make him seem less ‘controversial,’ I suppose, though you and I are far more so. Whatever Game reason she had for saying that, though, that kind of language undermines what we are trying to do. Justinia is too far removed from Kirkwall to understand what’s going on here. Even when you write to her, she isn’t here, so she doesn’t get it as we do. That is the problem.”

She closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “I know. I  _agree_ with you, Anders, but in the big picture, her words in a letter sent to very few people don’t mean much. It’s not worth so much anger.”

He sighed. “You’re right. It just seems to me that she is  _ still _ trying to appease people who think mages should literally be eliminated.”

Mistress Selby spoke up after a moment of silence. “The Divine said that we are free to investigate Meredith. I might take her up on that offer. There are Templars inside the Circle who might be able to gather information.”

“Please don’t endanger your network for this,” said Caitlyn, “but if you think it can be done without risking them too much, certainly.”

The woman nodded. “I had another idea as well. I do not know how much people in Lowtown know, really know, of what has happened lately. This did not affect Kirkwall’s common people like the attack on the clinic did, or the Qunari assault, or even the execution of the rapist Templars. This only affected Your Grace’s family and the First Enchanter, who was a distant figure to them. If the story is that Meredith executed him for conspiring with the Butcher of Lowtown, whom they  _did_ know of, it could be a problem. You did not miscarry, after all, so they might see it as regrettable and careless of her but ultimately no harm done.”

“That is a good point,” Caitlyn said, frowning.

“I thought of holding a people’s forum in the Lowtown marketplace to tell them the truth,” she continued. “And muster support for Meredith’s removal. Some of them have children or siblings in the Circle. We need to put pressure on Justinia to get rid of her, it seems. I know I don’t require your permission to speak to the people, and doing that is something of a tradition now in Kirkwall,” she said with a wry smile, “but I am asking for it anyway, since I am on your Small Council.”

Caitlyn and Anders exchanged glances. “You have my permission,” she said slowly, “but do be careful. There must be a number of people who know that you lead the Mage Underground and even more who suspect it.”

“I will be as careful as I feel is right,” she said. “This is bigger than me. And Your Grace has taken the biggest risk of any of us by ruling openly as a mage. Nonetheless... I will try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the first part of this chapter... yes, I went soft. You’re welcome. As it turns out, I do have a limit for how much I’m able to let these poor characters suffer.
> 
> The story about crystal grace is taken from a DA:I codex entry about it.


	24. The Last Spark of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This chapter begins the endgame. I think I am going to have an epilogue about what happens in the mage conflict and _DA:I_ timeline of this AU, but I do not see that becoming a third fic in the series.
> 
> Song inspiration is “Last Hope” by Paramore.

Anders, Varric, and Donnic Hendyr watched carefully as Mistress Selby spoke to Lowtown at the top of the steps of what had been the Qunari compound. A banner bearing the heraldry of Kirkwall waved gently behind her, giving her the imprimatur of official support—as, of course, she had, being a member of the Viscountess’s Small Council and in agreement with her ruler on the subject of which she was speaking.

Her speeches would take place there rather than the Lowtown marketplace. Varric had reported to Caitlyn that the merchants in the marketplace had been dismayed at the idea of a return to public rallies that took place in the commercial square, complaining that it hurt their business for political agitators to take over the space and crowd out customers, especially since fights were always a danger. Although she had not agreed with the implicit comparison to Mettin’s mob—or Petrice’s anti-Qunari mobs a couple of years ago, for that matter—Caitlyn had seen his point. The merchants were burned by violence-inciting agitators and did not want any political speechifying to take place in the business district anymore. In fact, Caitlyn had reflected, the domestic peace in Kirkwall for the greater part of 9:36 was probably why people had come to approve of her rule, so better not to throw it away. She urged Selby to go to the old Qunari building rather than the marketplace, and the older woman had agreed without protest.

It was a better location anyway, Varric thought—at least for the speaker’s ability to be heard. From the top of the steps, Selby’s voice carried across the crowd very well, far better than it would have in the marketplace. But there was also a concern, which had existed in the market but was a far greater risk here. Standing atop the steps, comparatively isolated, Mistress Selby was an easy target for anyone with ranged weapons, and any such assassin would not need to worry too much about hitting others by accident. He, Anders, and Donnic—plus several guards whom Donnic and Aveline particularly trusted—were keeping a discreet eye out for suspicious movements from the crowd and the windows of the surrounding buildings.

“I don’t like this,” muttered Donnic. “She’s exposed.”

“I guess that’s why we are here,” said Varric, patting Bianca affectionately.

* * *

“Anders could cast small shield barriers,” Caitlyn said when they reported back with their concerns. “A big barrier will muffle sound, but smaller ones might suffice.”

“Are you sure? The glyphs _are_ visible to others,” Anders said.

“I know they are. I’ve cast them myself. Ask her, and if she doesn’t want you to do it, then you had better stay away. There was an attempt on your life before.”

“And yours,” he said quietly.

She nodded, remembering the attack on the Keep clinic. After a moment of silence passed, she spoke again. “What did Selby have to say?”

“Today she just spoke about Meredith, Orsino, and... you,” he said. “She didn’t excuse him, but she emphasized the fact that he confessed his crime, that Meredith blackmailed him, and that _she_ did... what she did. I think the crowd was largely on our side.” He frowned, remembering. “She did say that she would speak further on mage rights in coming days.”

“I need to talk to her,” said Caitlyn. “I think, with Alain as First Enchanter and clearly in favor of reforms too, I need to seize the moment and hold a lot of votes. Overwhelm Meredith with changes, including some major ones, if I can. I want to coordinate that with what Selby says.”

* * *

_A few days later._

Mistress Selby’s voice thundered angrily down the steps of the Qunari compound to her gathered crowd. Three people, a couple and an elderly man, stood to her side, looking angry. “Beside me are the parents and grandfather of a mage who was taken to the Circle at fifteen in 9:30 by Meredith Stannard!” she roared. “They were told nothing! He _disappeared_ one evening, disappeared from the streets of Lowtown during the height of crime and gang violence. Can you imagine what they must have feared?”

The crowd roared in response.

“They only learned of his fate after Viscountess Hawke and the new Grand Cleric ordered that Circle mages have the right to contact their families. At last, as an adult, he demanded to meet with them. Were the traitorous Elthina still Grand Cleric, they would, to this day, not know if their son, their grandson, was alive or dead, free or enslaved! And their story is one of the happier ones. I have also known families who learned what became of their children after associates of mine found their children’s bodies in Darktown tunnels, trying to escape so they could see their parents—”

Boos erupted from the gathered throng.

“—or from appalled Templars who saw Meredith Stannard put a child to death for crying in fear at being taken from his family, claiming that she saw a demon. She apparently did not bother to get a second opinion before summarily executing a little child for crying.”

Several people started jeering and shouting. Varric and Donnic exchanged uneasy looks, hoping that no one would take advantage of the fact that the crowd was riled to attack the speaker. She was making it very easy for people to guess that she was involved in the Mage Underground. Anders also looked furious, even though he knew that Caitlyn planned to hold a vote on this very matter at once—and in fact, was using Selby’s speech to turn public opinion strongly in her favor.

“If anyone but Meredith’s Templars snatched children off the streets and kept it secret, it would be the crime of kidnapping!” Selby exclaimed. “If anyone else put children to death for crying, it would be the crime of murder!”

At these words, the crowd’s rage boiled over. People began to call, loudly, for Meredith’s removal. From somewhere in the back, a loud female voice yelled, _“Hang her!”_ Several people nearby took that up. Although the majority of the crowd seemed uncomfortable with it, a vocal minority chanted for the Knight-Commander’s execution.

“This isn’t good,” said Varric in an undertone. “The city heraldry is behind her, and she is on the Small Council.”

Anders shrugged. “Meredith deserves it. I’d gladly tie the noose myself.”

Varric gave him a sideways, skeptical glance. “I know. And how did it work out when you did it before?”

* * *

At the Keep, Caitlyn, Alain, Petrice, and Meredith sat at a table. Meredith was glowering, aware that she was about to lose the vote, but still determined to have her say.

“I heard that someone on your Council has been inciting people to call for my death,” she spat.

“Mistress Selby has called attention to situations that the Council finds objectionable,” Caitlyn replied coldly. _“She_ hasn’t called for your death and is not responsible for what others say.”

“This is why some of us see you as a hypocrite. How is that different from what Mettin did?”

“Mettin himself called for me to be overthrown. He declared that I was an illegitimate ruler.”

“According to Chantry law—”

“Do you truly wish to finish that statement, Knight-Commander?” said Petrice. “The Viscountess is free of the Circles and free to serve man with her magic, as the Prophet commanded. If the Divine disagreed, she would have interfered by now.”

“This Divine is too friendly to apostates,” said Meredith darkly. “The Conclaves can be in error. It has happened before. There are even some who wonder if Justinia is an _anti-divine—”_

Petrice interrupted sharply. “Watch your mouth or you will be suspected of conspiring with rebels and heretics.”

Caitlyn was gaping in astonishment that Meredith would actually say this. She already suspected that Meredith was in league with Elthina and the proto-schismatics high in the Seekers and Templars, but to use the term “anti-divine” was almost a confession of it. That term was only applied retroactively to leaders of the Chantry who were declared to have been elected against the Maker’s will, and there had only been two: Amara III, who tortured her enemies and burned people at the stake; and Theodosia II, who broke her vow of celibacy. Angrily she recalled that Meredith and her supporters had a history of insulting _her_ for not being celibate, making vulgar comments about “spreading her legs” and attacking her for giving birth to Mal before her marriage even though she married his father. _I’ve only had two partners in my whole life and they only know about one of them,_ she thought, seething. _These retrogrades will attack a female mage for being intimate with her own husband._

She pushed this line of thought out of her mind before it became a spiral of rage. “The Grand Cleric is right,” she said. “You should be careful of a loose tongue, Knight-Commander, given that _Divine_ Justinia has already censured you.” Meredith glowered again, and as she lowered her head, Caitlyn thought she caught an odd red gleam in her pupils. Was it from the dwarven lamplight?

The moment, barely a fraction of a second, passed, however, and Caitlyn decided to move ahead with her votes. “We have two motions to consider today,” she said smoothly, a hint of smugness in her voice. “One, to rule that children will never be taken from their families without the families being informed and having the chance to see the child off.”

“Why is this necessary, since you let Circle mages contact and visit with their blood relations?” snarled Meredith.

“Because the parents don’t deserve to have a single hour in which they fear their child has been kidnapped or murdered, nor the child to be denied that farewell—even if they _will_ get to visit later. I expect there are some Templars who _want_ to wait and talk with the parents with the child right there, but have been forbidden to. What possible reason can you have for wanting parents to consider the Templars kidnappers, Meredith?”

Meredith drew herself up. “I am indifferent to what they think. They are no longer the parents. A mage child is the responsibility of the Templars.”

Alain gaped in contempt and shock. Caitlyn was not surprised, she noted cynically—though it did make her angry to hear it. “They are _always_ that child’s parents,” she said, thinking of her own child and the one she was still carrying. “You cannot take that away.”

“The Maker ordains parenthood,” added the priest piously.

Meredith glared furiously, voting against the motion out of what appeared to be little more than spite, but it passed. With a smug smile adorning her face, Caitlyn continued. “Next, something else that Mistress Selby brought to our attention. I propose that no mages will be executed as abominations if they have always worn their own faces and are not attacking anyone.”

Meredith exploded. “Abominations _do_ wear their own faces if they want!” she roared. “They don’t immediately assume monstrous forms when the demon takes over!”

“Exactly,” Caitlyn said. “Which is why you cannot tell whether someone is or not if they look normal. The risk of killing an innocent is too high to allow it, and real abominations would reveal themselves before long. This would not mean you couldn’t defend against an attack—by anything.”

“I heard about what that woman said,” Meredith seethed. “Do you care to know what really happened with the crying brat? I saw Fade light flashing in the child’s hands and eyes. It was a demon.”

“It could have been magic bursting out on its own. The child was frightened about being taken from his parents, and mild magic sometimes bursts out if a mage is upset. There were obviously other Templars who witnessed it and didn’t think it was a demon—but even if they were wrong, it doesn’t change the principle. There was a difference of opinion with this one child. He should have had the benefit of a doubt with his life at stake.”

“I would like to know just how Selby knows so much about what goes on inside the Circle,” Meredith muttered. “I know some of my Templars have betrayed me, but....” She broke off darkly.

Caitlyn was alarmed at this turn. She knew as soon as Mistress Selby declared her intent that it was risky, but to actually hear Meredith mutter against “traitors” in the Gallows made it more real. Hurriedly she held the vote, which also passed, though the Grand Cleric was not vocally supportive of this one as she had been of the first one. _It passed, and that’s what matters,_ she thought. _These are minor reforms still, but they will mean a lot to some families._ As she dismissed the meeting and rose from her seat, she suppressed a smile at the thought of what she planned later.

* * *

Anders was silent and moody that evening. At last, after they had put Mal to bed and gone into their own rooms to unwind from the day before going to bed, Caitlyn decided to ask him what was wrong. “I would have thought the results of the vote today would please you,” she added in confusion.

“They do,” he said, though it sounded more like a mutter. “But the fact remains that you are holding votes with Meredith, the woman who tried to make you miscarry. She got ‘reprimanded,’ no actual consequences for her actions, and now you’re having to hold these votes with her there again, as if nothing has changed. As if everything is normal.”

“What else can I do, Anders? As you said, _I_ am the one carrying our daughter. You are a father, but you can’t know what it is to feel a baby growing in you. I _hate_ Meredith for what she did. But what would you have me do? The votes don’t count unless she is there, even though she always loses now.”

“She overthrew a Viscount before and likely organized his murder. This fickle city acclaimed her a hero for it, too. Elthina tried Threnhold before the Chantry, as if _they_ rule the city and have that right. Maker, I’m glad at least one of them is out of power—but the other is still here. She thinks she can commit regicide whenever a worldly leader displeases her. She tried to _kill_ our _baby._ She took Merrill, who was on your Council. She has already struck at you and _will_ try again. We could....” He glowered and clenched his fists. “We could try to do it to _her_ first.”

Caitlyn drew back, frightened of his words and even more frightened of the look in his face. A series of blue crackles illuminated his skin before fading away.

“Anders,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and not exacerbate his anger, since the spirit was very close to making an appearance and it seemed quite likely that it would be Vengeance right now. “As much as I might _like_ to cut her down—and yes, with magic—we can’t do that.”

“The Antivans assassinate rivals all the time, and so do the Orlesians. Being in power doesn’t take that away as an option.”

She gaped at him; he really was digging in with this, and it unnerved her. “And look what has happened in those countries. Assassination is accepted and shrugged off. It’s a bad precedent to remove her lawlessly like that. She did it to Threnhold; the Arishok did it to Dumar.... If we also take out a powerful rival that way, it becomes... _normal._ And it shouldn’t be. Laws still matter,” she said, hoping that Anders saw reason and the Justice aspect of the spirit heard her words. “The vote shows that peaceful, political ways _do_ still work, Anders. It’s not hopeless yet. We don’t have to turn to violence. She is on very thin ice with the Divine after what she did. We just need to be patient for a little while longer and she will be removed.”

“A little while longer?” he repeated in disbelief. “Let her do one more evil thing, take one more victim, so that the Divine will get rid of her, assuming Justinia will keep her word about that? That’s what you’re suggesting, Caitlyn, to let her hurt someone again. What if I am that someone, or Mal, or she has another go at the baby and succeeds? Would that be worth it to be rid of her ‘lawfully’?”

Caitlyn drew back, anger now overtaking her too. “I’m not even going to answer that. If you don’t want to have a serious discussion, but to lecture me as if I’m taking an immoral position, this talk is at an end. Good night, Anders.” She flounced onto her side of the bed, turning to face the wall and pulling the covers to her neck tightly.

_He’s wrong,_ she thought repeatedly. _He’s being dramatic and absurd. This was Vengeance speaking through him, nothing more. He wants her blood for what she tried to do, and he is not the Viscount, so he doesn’t understand that it can’t be that way. He’s in one of his dark, fatalistic moods. That’s all._

In a few minutes, she felt the mattress shift as he lay down all the way on the other side. The thought came unbidden to her that she might like to cuddle with him. They always cuddled... even when they didn’t feel like lovemaking, they always cuddled....

He stayed on his side of the bed, stiff as a plank. She felt a pang of unfulfilled desire for closeness—but it quickly was swept away by a renewed surge of anger. _Let him sulk, then,_ she thought, plumping her pillow and closing her eyes defiantly. _Let him sleep like that and suit himself._

* * *

As a mage, Caitlyn knew that she was in the Fade and that this was just a dream, but that did not make it any easier to experience. As she walked Fade paths, she reached what seemed to be an invisible barrier. She could see and hear through it, but the... beings... on the other side did not seem to see her at all. One of them had golden hair and the other vividly red....

_Me. Or rather, something impersonating me,_ she thought. _And that’s Anders. But where is Mal?_

The spirit, or demon, impersonating Anders spoke. He looked prematurely aged, and his voice was hard and darkened. “You wanted to meet with me?”

_Oh, my love, that cannot be you!_

The one that resembled her replied, equally coldly, “I heard that you were going to join _them._ That Varric had talked you into it.”

“I am. You refused, even though it’s _your_ responsibility—”

_“Kirkwall_ is my responsibility.”

“The only one you have now,” the Anders-demon—for she was certain now that it was a demon—sneered. “That was always more important than anything else to you, even your own children. I have nothing more to say to you.” He turned aside in contempt.

* * *

She woke up in a cold sweat, shaking. _It’s not real,_ she thought, trying to clear the dream from her mind. _It’s just what my mind shaped the Fade to be after the fight. I would never do... whatever those demons tried to make me think I had done... to my children. Anders and I would never speak to each other that way. We swore to protect each other and our children no matter what, and we will always do that._

Anders was lying on his side just on the other side of the bed. He seemed to be waking too. She felt bad if she had disturbed his sleep, but if he did wake up, she was instantly determined to make peace with him.

She crawled across the bed. He felt her approach from the shift of the mattress, the rustling sounds, and the heat of her body, and he rolled over to stare at her.

“Anders,” she said softly, “let’s not ever do this again. Go to sleep angry, I mean. I had a horrid dream, and....”

“So did I.” He closed his eyes miserably. “I don’t even want to think of it.”

“Then let’s not. Our minds just molded the Fade into shapes that trouble us, because we didn’t resolve this before going to sleep.” She reached for the side of his face. His eyes fluttered shut, and he shivered as she stroked his cheek. Encouraged, she moved closer. He breathed deeply and gazed down into her eyes, acutely aware of her warm body next to his.

He said the words first. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was gentle.

She took a deep breath, feeling better as the dream receded. “I’m sorry too. I should remember our promise. We protect our family, _no matter what._ Even if that means violently.”

“I shouldn’t assume that it will. Vengeance... I, we, are still furious about _her..._ but that doesn’t excuse what I said to you at the end. I love you.”

Warmth flooded her. “I love you too,” she whispered. She reached for his head and ran her fingers into his hair, pulling him close to her, feeling the warmth of his body from head to toe as he was pressed against her. “We’re on the same side. We want the same thing. We need to remember that.”

He kissed her. “Yes,” he said quietly. “We do.”

“And the fact that we disagree sometimes about the best way to get that doesn’t mean that we love each other or our children any less, either.”

He let out a whimper at that and buried his head in the spot where her neck and left shoulder met. “No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t. It’s... good that we have different ideas. It makes us stronger.”

She murmured in agreement and cuddled against him as they began to nod off again. For the rest of the night, their dreams were pleasant.

* * *

“Many of you came here before to learn of children being ripped from their parents—but it does not end with that. I have heard of mages who reached adulthood, picking up training outside the Circle, who did no harm to the community and lived quiet, normal lives, who got married—and were then discovered at last and torn from their spouses!”

Mistress Selby was holding another rally. This was a far more controversial topic, since she was advocating for adult apostates rather than young children, but she had discussed it with Caitlyn and Anders. Anders had been completely in favor of talking about it publicly, and although Caitlyn had a brief pang of unease, she had quickly decided not to surrender to fear for her position and instead support what she believed. She wanted others to have the chance to live as she and Anders did, after all, and that meant that she and her allies would have to advocate for adult apostates at some point. It might as well be now, and best to start with a sympathetic group. Spouses torn from each other were that, as she knew better than most.

Anders was at the top of the compound steps this time, hidden in the shadows behind pillars at the gates, but he was watching the assembled crowd carefully. On the sidelines of the crowd, Varric, Donnic, Aveline, and other guards watched warily.

* * *

“I have summoned you here today to vote on a new proposal for the Circle,” Caitlyn said. She gazed at Anders, who sat beside her. “The Lord Consort of Kirkwall does not have a vote, of course, but he does have something to say that is relevant to today’s proposal, and it’s best that he say it himself.”

Meredith glared, even angrier than usual due to Anders’ presence.

“Marriage is a sacred institution,” she began, the words tripping off her tongue readily even though it felt somewhat awkward. She did believe that, but it felt odd to say it, since so much of her political scheming that used religious language had been about _manipulating_ the faithful with appeals to their faith. “Divine annulments are extremely rare. I cannot find any instance of one being given for... what I am about to describe, in fact.”

“I’m sure we know what you are about to describe,” Meredith interrupted. “You and that woman Selby are planning this.”

“Do not interrupt me again,” Caitlyn said icily. “And what do you _think?_ She is on my Small Council.” She faced the others again. “My point is that the Chantry does not seem to consider magic a reason to annul a marriage, even a marriage of apostates.”

“Do you imagine that this—this lack of action implies an endorsement?” Meredith sputtered.

“There is no shortage of priests who could send for annulments of married apostate mages who are captured,” she said. “It’s an uncommon enough situation that it would not be time-consuming, but for whatever reason, it isn’t done. Therefore, they remain married.” _And this Divine certainly won’t begin that practice,_ Caitlyn thought smugly. She wouldn’t admit it, but she actually agreed with Meredith that this was a mere oversight. However, circumstances were on her side. Previous Divines, including Beatrix III, definitely might have started annulling apostate marriages when one of the pair was taken to a Circle, now that she had called attention to it, but Justinia would not. For the first time in a while, she was actually glad that Justinia was on the Sunburst Throne.

She continued. “Unfortunately, there _is_ a history of tearing spouses from each other when one or even _both_ have magic. In the case of both being mages, they have been sent to separate Circles. We have changed that in Kirkwall already, with the support of First Enchanter Alain,” she added with an encouraging look at him, “and today I propose dealing with the other cases. When one spouse is a mage and the other is not, and the one who is a mage needs training—as determined by the Senior Enchanters—then the one who isn’t a mage will still have the option of living in Circle quarters, in a private dorm with their spouse. If they have had children, they get quarters too. And of course, if the non-magical spouse does not choose to live in the Circle, they’ll still have the right to see each other.”

“That is nonsense,” declared Meredith. “The only people who should live in a Circle are mages and Templars.”

“Anders?” Caitlyn said quietly, not worried about using his name in front of these people.

He gave her a pained smile, almost a grimace but not quite. In truth, he did not like the idea of uprooting people from their established lives to live in a Circle even if they could share a private bedroom. He understood why she was doing this, and he hoped that it worked—because it would improve a few lives immediately and make people comfortable with bigger changes—but he wanted those big changes now. Suppressing his discomfort, he began to speak.

“The Hero of Ferelden told the Grey Warden mages about a young woman who went to live in the Fereldan Circle despite not being a mage. She is a dwarf, actually,” he said. “She went there to learn about the theory of magic because it interested her. The authorities allowed it without protest. So there _is_ a precedent for this.”

“The Fereldan Circle is widely known to have been carelessly and over-permissively run,” Meredith said.

“Among _your_ associates, perhaps. Who are they, I wonder?” She let that question hang in the air. “But that has nothing to do with letting her live there. This woman wanted to study. Scholarship may be approved by the Chantry....”

“‘A learned child is a blessing unto his parents and the Maker,’” quoted Petrice as if on cue.

“But it’s not a holy rite. Spouses have _more_ of a right to be there if they want.” Caitlyn peered at the Templar. “Why would you object to someone living there who could leave freely? Keeping secrets, are you?”

“You overstep yourself with your insinuations, as usual,” Meredith seethed.

Caitlyn smiled menacingly and continued, her point made. “To return to my proposal. If a mage spouse does demonstrate competence and training before the Senior Enchanters, that mage will have the option of living at home.”

_“What!”_

“Her Grace the Viscountess discussed this with me in advance,” said the priest. “The Templars will still be allowed to make a phylactery.”

Anders shifted uncomfortably and gazed down at his lap to hide his disapproval. He understood the compromise, but he did not like it. Neither did Caitlyn, for that matter, but she judged this far kinder and more just to couples than to risk separation. She expected that the affected couples would agree.

Petrice continued. “The mage would still be a member of the Circle, just not living in it due to already being trained and demonstrably not needing to live there for safety. Marriage _is_ a holy union. The Maker established it at the dawn of civilization. We must not take that lightly.”

“Coddling married apostates! Hawke—”

Caitlyn slammed her palms on the table and glared fiercely at Meredith. “You will address me properly.”

“You are doing this because _you_ got married as an apostate, _you_ had this priest willing to look the other way, just like the Divine is looking the other way, and you think that gives you the right to overthrow holy law for every apostate in Thedas!”

“This is about Kirkwall,” she needled as Meredith seethed. “I can’t change what is done elsewhere. Are you all right, Knight-Commander?”

Meredith’s eyes had become bloodshot again, Caitlyn noted. “Oh, you have some nerve,” she seethed. “Go ahead, then! Hold your vote. The Maker will respond in the end.”

Caitlyn hid her smug grin as she called the vote.

* * *

Anders was moody again that evening when they were alone with Mal. He seemed to be—not ignoring Caitlyn, precisely, but uncomfortable talking with her, instead spending time talking to his son about something that Mal had read that day and asked about.

At last the child seemed satisfied with what his father had explained. He returned to his current book, and Caitlyn seized the moment. Motioning for Anders to come to the windows to talk quietly, she rose from her seat.

He followed her to the windows, where they gazed out at the city. “What’s the matter?” he asked softly.

“I was going to ask you that,” she said. “Are you angry with me again? I know that you didn’t like the compromises today....”

He stared out the windows for a time, gathering his thoughts, before replying. “I’m not angry with you at all,” he said. “Rationally, I know that such things are necessary. But... advocating for phylacteries, for imprisoning whole families in Circles, _myself....”_

“I _know._ I don’t like it either, darling. Truly, I don’t.”

“You grew up in a family with one magical and one non-magical parent, and also your siblings. How could you....”

“And if we had been discovered and it were somehow my choice, I would _always_ have chosen to stay together as a family, even behind Circle walls,” she said firmly. “Unless Mother and Carver didn’t want that, of course.”

“Carver probably wouldn’t have.”

“Carver probably would have joined the Templars to be with us,” she said. “He was terrified of losing us too in those days; he just didn’t show it kindly. But I would have wanted them to have the _choice,_ instead of their husband, their children, their sisters being forcibly taken from them. Wouldn’t you?”

He sighed heavily, holding her in a loose embrace and gazing down at the floor. “It’s still choosing the least bad option. And it’s only a choice here in Kirkwall.”

“We won’t ever get the big changes unless we make milder ones first. Or start a war, which we might not win,” she added dourly. “Think about it, Anders. If I had been captured as an apostate after our wedding and before I became Champion, but I had the option of staying with you in our own home if Templars took my blood, I’d have extended my arm willingly.”

“I understand,” he croaked. “I just hate that this _is_ the choice.”

She gazed tenderly at him. “I know, and so do I, but it is a better choice than mages in Kirkwall faced only yesterday. And if you had never become a Grey Warden at all and I had never been given my freedom, and we were captured—and Mal was too,” she added very quietly so that Mal could not hear, “which would you prefer, being sent to three different Circles or kept together in private family quarters?”

“You know what I would prefer. That’s not even a question,” he said. He put his hand on her growing belly. “But what if they become pregnant, Cait? If they share bedrooms, they might. Children born to Circle mages are taken.”

“Not here. Not anymore. It isn’t explicit,” she said, “but that is an implication of this new law and the first one I passed with Alain. Children, any children, stay with their mage parents if they want it, and mage relatives go to the same Circle. The Chantry will not steal the babies of Circle mages here.”

His amber eyes widened in admiration. “Maker, you’re clever,” he said, pulling her close.

“Of course,” she said, smiling mildly. He nuzzled the side of her face and pulled her gently into a lounge chair that rested in front of the tall windows. “How is she? Is everything still going all right?”

He knew what she was asking. Placing a hand gently on her bump, he gazed at her with loving eyes. “She is,” he said. “She’s a tough little fighter.”

“Naturally, given who her parents are. Her brother is too.”

He gave Mal a look that bore a pang of regret. “I hate that he has had to be so tough, emotionally,” he said in a voice that only she could hear. “He’s just a child. When we were first expecting him, I guess I knew in the back of my mind that he would have challenges in his life, but I hoped that he could grow up with the hope and innocence that you and your siblings did....”

“That hope was always tempered by fear once I learned about mages and the Chantry and what it meant for my father,” Caitlyn said quietly. “And then when I first cast a flame at the rafters. Mage children never get to be innocent.”

He closed his eyes, but she noticed tears gleaming unshed in the warm light.

“And on the subject of children... after a couple of weeks, I think I am going to make my _big_ proposal.”

Anders opened his eyes and raised his gaze to her inquisitively.

She took a deep breath before speaking. “I’m going to propose that parents of a mage child will have the option of having their child taught at home if they can pay for private tutors from the Circle. Or the Grey Wardens.”

Anders gasped as he realized where this was headed.

“The child will still be a mage of the Circle, just not living there. _Or,”_ she added pointedly, her green eyes suddenly bright with intensity, “if the parents _are_ mages living in their own home, which we’ve _just_ allowed for with today’s vote—or, I guess, in rare cases like ours where a Warden mage has a child before Joining—then the parents can teach that child themselves.”

Anders’ eyes widened in surprise—and alarm. He gazed quickly at Mal, who fortunately was still engrossed in his book, and then back to her. “That’s bold,” he breathed. “Being part of the Circle means a phylactery, I’m sure, but....” He glanced at his son again. “Everyone will know why you wanted this. It will be taken as an admission that we know Mal is a mage.”

Her gaze was determined. “It is almost Harvestmere. He’ll be nine in little more than three months. We can’t hide it forever, Anders, and you wouldn’t want to. He should not have to hide what he is, and no one else is going to ensure his freedom. We have to do it. We are his parents. And if I don’t act, Meredith will.”

He considered that, but only for a moment. “You are right,” he said, giving her another hug. “You are absolutely right.”

* * *

Caitlyn explained her plans to the two members of her Council who had interests in the matter. Petrice had eyed her shrewdly, as a silence descended for just long enough to make it clear that it was deliberate. Caitlyn realized that the priest had quickly guessed why she was determined on _this_ specific rule, just as Anders had predicted.

However, the priest had then said, in even tones, “I have seen this sort of arrangement in Orlais. It was unofficial, of course, but among some of the nobility, especially those who lead more retired lives, it is customary to hire a Circle Enchanter as the ‘family Healer’ but for that person to also tutor a mage child in private. I never saw a problem arise from it.”

Caitlyn remembered what she had learned about the calamity at Redcliffe in Ferelden. Evidently Petrice did not know about that, and Caitlyn had no intention of enlightening her now. Caitlyn had not managed to get a straight answer from anyone in Denerim about why it had gone so wrong, but what Anders had said of it—relayed to him by the Warden-Commander and one of the other Wardens who had seen it—was that the little boy had been susceptible to a demon because his father was in a deathly coma due to being poisoned by the same mage who had been hired to teach just months earlier. He must not have learned yet how to recognize and refuse demons. That should not be a problem for Mal— _and maybe Jo Beth,_ Caitlyn thought—and while she could not answer for the conditions of other people’s homes, the danger from a demon exploiting a child’s fears for family could not be any _greater_ at home than in Circle quarters.

The separate meeting with Mistress Selby, the other Council member who had a stake in the proposal, had gone a little differently.

“Your Grace, I have a concern.”

Caitlyn suspected that she knew why this ally seemed unhappy, but waited for confirmation. She nodded for her to continue.

“Of course you and your lord husband would want to teach your children at home, yourselves, if they turn out to have inherited their parents’ magic,” Selby said, also giving Caitlyn a pointed look indicating that she had guessed right about Mal. “But the private tutelage part... it creates two laws, in essence, one for the rich and one for everyone else. And children in poor families usually have duties to help the household. Losing their help is a hardship.”

“I know,” Caitlyn said patiently. “I grew up as a daughter of a farm couple. But it can’t be helped. The rich have always been able to get private tutors for their children, while others learn what little they can. I was an exception because both of my parents were very well-educated for different reasons... but what I mean to say is that I do not think most people will mind this. They already know that they cannot afford private tutors for _non_ -magical children.”

Selby nodded. “Perhaps you are right, Your Grace. At least they will not be separated from their children permanently anymore. And in the future, who knows what else may change?”

“Many things.” She gazed quickly around. “This is a secret that cannot go any further, but I was told in confidence once that the Divine has begun a program of secret research into reversing Tranquility.”

Selby raised her eyebrows in shock. Hope filled her face. “If this research bears fruit, that would be a great thing for the world,” she said. “I would love to talk with my sister again, truly talk with her, the one who played with me when we were little girls and told me all about the fantastic stories she imagined. She cannot imagine anything now and does not even remember what it feels like. To have that back again....”

Anders spoke up, his voice heavy with feeling. “I am sometimes impatient with the Divine, but I try to remember that she is overseeing this in secret.”

Selby nodded. “Do you know any details of the research?”

“I... have some ideas... but they are only that,” Anders said evasively. Caitlyn immediately guessed what he must mean; she recalled that Karl had been briefly reconnected with the Fade by the mere proximity of Justice. Fade spirits were a promising avenue. Surely Justinia did not _know_ of Anders’ situation, though; that could only be the case if Elissa Cousland told Leliana, who then passed it on, and she did not believe that the women would do that. There must be some other avenue of information for Justinia.

Selby did not inquire further. “Well, whatever it is, let’s pray that it works.”

* * *

Caitlyn was prepared for an explosion and an avalanche of personal attacks from Meredith the day she proposed this rule, and she was not disappointed.

“You go too far,” the Knight-Commander declared when Caitlyn explained her plan. “This is nothing more than a blatant attempt to help your own family, to keep your offspring in the Keep no matter what.”

Caitlyn had already decided that the best way to answer this type of remark was to acknowledge the benefit to her family freely rather than prevaricating. “Of course my husband and I would rather train our children if it should become necessary, since we are capable of it,” she said brazenly. “You cannot truly think that condemning a mother for wanting to help her own children is a sound argument.”

“‘ _If_ it should become necessary,’” quoted Meredith mockingly. “Is it an ‘if’ still? Your boy is, what, ten?”

“Nine in three months,” Caitlyn said. “But again, that fact has not escaped us. If he, or if my as-yet unborn daughter, the one who almost died when you knocked me backward, is a mage, we are perfectly capable of training them. We’re their parents; of course we would want to do that. I do not see the scandal that you claim you do.”

“If he has done magic and you are keeping it secret, you are harboring yet another apostate,” Meredith warned, her tone low and dangerous.

_“If,”_ Caitlyn said sarcastically, throwing Meredith’s own word back at her. She turned to Alain. “What do you think of this? Would the Circle Enchanters be willing to teach children who probably would not ever live in the Gallows?”

The young mage considered. “Many would. Some would resent it, but I would suggest always making it a voluntary assignment in that case. And if these children are members of the Circle, they would have access to the library and magical supplies. They would need to visit, to study there some days... unless they did have access to family libraries of magic,” he added. “I suppose Your Grace has one, but that’s unusual outside of Tevinter.”

Caitlyn wished immediately that he had not mentioned Tevinter, and sure enough, Meredith pounced on that. “And Tevinter is exactly what you will establish if you stay on this path,” she said triumphantly. “Wealthy magic families passing down private knowledge of Maker only knows what, outside the oversight and control of moral instructors.”

“Of course, every mage criminal I’ve ever heard of learned about it in a wealthy family’s private library,” Caitlyn retorted with extreme sarcasm. “And moral instructors, you say? The same ‘instructors’ who used to take away children’s free will and then rape them? You have no grounds to accuse _me_ of promoting evil behavior. Besides, any magic that is illegal will remain so.”

“The Circle can control what is in its own library. We cannot know what private collections may contain.”

“It’s not illegal merely to _read_ about it.”

“Now you advocate for private, secret books about blood magic. You have no limit. None of your kind ever do!” Meredith’s normally pallid skin was strangely blotchy, Caitlyn noticed. Was it just her anger causing blood to flush?

“Some mages need to know how it works in order to fight it effectively, Knight-Commander,” Alain said, trying to talk her down. “I was forced to watch my old companions use blood magic, and as awful as it was, I have benefited from the knowledge now when I fight maleficarum with the Guard.”

“The Templars already had that ability.”

“But more support helps.”

“She won’t listen, First Enchanter,” Caitlyn declared suddenly. She had heard enough and her patience was at an end. “It has nothing to do with my actual proposal, anyway. We vote on the proposed rule to let mage children join the Circle rolls but learn at home from hired tutors or their own competent and trained parents.”

“You will answer to the Maker one day,” Meredith muttered.

* * *

“Guess what, Mal?” Caitlyn said that evening. Despite the scene that Meredith created, the vote had gone her way and she was very pleased. Across the room, seated next to his son, Anders gave her a knowing grin. “You won’t be sent away from us.”

He looked up sharply, staring at his mother in disbelief for a moment. Then a cry of joy escaped him. “I can stay?” he repeated.

“You can stay as long as you want to, dear, even if people guess that you are a mage or you show it yourself. I just made that law today.”

He rose from his chair and hurried over to give his mother a tight hug, making sure to be careful of her bump. “Mother,” he said huskily.

She embraced him back, aware that he was trembling and trying not to cry. Her heart went out to him. _I knew that this troubled him,_ she thought. _I knew it for a long time. But it still hurts that it troubled him so much that he shakes and sobs in relief when the threat is lifted._ “My sweet boy,” she said softly, caressing his back. “Your father and I couldn’t rest until you were safe from that. And now you are.”

After they put him to bed that night, Anders turned to her uneasily. “I don’t think we should encourage him to do magic in public yet. Someone is going to challenge what you did. I really think that the Divine will have to step in at last, and Maker only knows what she’ll do.”

“Someone could challenge it, I agree,” Caitlyn said, “but you really think there is a chance that Justinia won’t uphold it?”

“She may want to encourage reform, at least more than her predecessors did, but I think what she wants more than that is to avoid a schism and an Exalted March,” he said darkly. “And if that’s her first priority, then what might she do to advance it? Let’s wait, all right? Let’s tell him to wait, to be utterly sure.”

She considered. She still believed that he was too cynical about certain things, but with their son’s freedom at stake, he had a point. It was better to be too careful than too eager. Looking at him again, she nodded in agreement.

* * *

When Caitlyn and Anders explained to Mal why he would still need to wait just a little bit longer before doing magic in public, he took it surprisingly well. Disappointment was etched in his face, but there was also resignation. Caitlyn felt a pang. Had he given up hope? _It should only be a little while longer,_ she thought. _These things do take time, but at last, I have meaningful achievements. At last, politics are working for us. It need not come to violence if this will just continue—if I can just force it to continue._ A little voice in her head whispered that she did not have that kind of power, but she ignored it.

Caitlyn decided not to make a performance of announcing these changes before a crowd, but instead, to put them into effect quietly. What mattered was that they _were_ enforced, not that she herself became the focus of attention. And if doing this quietly made it less likely for unrest to develop, so much the better, she thought.

Despite this, she knew that Meredith would remain in contact with her allies abroad. She was not surprised, she told herself, when word came not quite two weeks later that the Grand Clerics of the self-styled “Alliance of the Faithful,” the three Marcher cities who were allied against her, had sent a formal objection to Divine Justinia challenging Kirkwall’s new rule allowing mage children to be taught at home and the part of the rule about spouses that allowed them to live together outside Circle quarters. _Anders warned that this was likely,_ Caitlyn thought. _It was to be expected. It does not herald an escalation of conflict._

She could still believe that right up until the new broadsheet began to appear in Kirkwall and the first fight broke out.

* * *

_Grand Cleric in Exile Elthina Calls on Kirkwall to Repent!_

_“If they will not listen to Our Lady, why would they listen to me?” says the exiled and falsely accused cleric, but she adds that hope for repentance remains until the day the Maker enacts His just punishment for those who defy Him. That day draws near for the troubled city. Kirkwall, return to the Prophet’s commands and restore a rightful ruler before it is too late._

 

The two people whom Aveline dragged into jail for fighting were carrying this broadsheet. Caitlyn glowered angrily as she accepted it from the Guard-Captain to read. Anders hovered next to her, temporarily away from the Keep clinic when he heard what had happened.

“Where did this come from?” she said in frigid tones, handing it back. “Did Elthina herself compose it? If she did, Sebastian approves of it too—and that is an explicit call to overthrow me and a threat if it doesn’t happen. If she produced this, this is cause for war.”

Aveline scowled; she might have had some disagreements with the breadth of her friend’s political agenda, but she almost always took the side of the rule of law, and this _was_ an open call for insurrection. “We don’t know if she herself wrote it,” she said. “It doesn’t sound as refined as the one we know she wrote last year.”

“What _do_ we know? Can it be traced to the north?”

“We are looking into that. It implies that someone made it who personally heard Elthina, but the composer might have attributed words to her from rumor. It was block printed, so we can only find the press if it is someone here.”

“If it is someone here, hang them for inciting treason.” Her voice was angry and corrosive. “The last time people brawled in the streets over politics and agitators called for my removal, it resulted in a bomb exploding in a place of healing. I will not risk that again.”

As she stormed away, fury and fear again overtaking her, Anders hurried to keep up. She heard his rapid footsteps and slowed down to let him catch her.

“Caitlyn,” he said, taking her hand.

“Please don’t tell me that you have an objection to what I just said.”

Hurt filled his face at this. “I don’t, at all,” he said with emphasis. “I just wanted to comfort you. Maker, you’re shaking with anger, love. Let me hold you.” He waited only a moment for her to relax slightly before enveloping her in his arms. He leaned the side of his face gently against hers.

She let him caress her as he murmured soothing words. “Thank you,” she said softly, embracing him in return. Some of her tension seemed to go away. “I just... wanted my way to work. This upsets me. I don’t want the city to be torn apart again.”

“Your way could still work,” he said. It seemed strange to him to be comforting _her_ with reassurances of something about which _he_ had had doubts for so long, but right now, she needed to hear it. And her hopes might yet be rewarded, he thought.

She took a deep breath and drew away slightly from him. “Thank you, love. I am all right now.”

He smiled encouragingly, but unease stirred within him.

* * *

For the next week following the first appearance of the broadsheet, Aveline reported grimly that more fights had broken out between supporters of Caitlyn and supporters of Meredith—or between supporters of Meredith and bystanders whom they believed to be “mage sympathizers.” The broadsheet turned up again, but the guards were unable to trace it to a printer in Kirkwall.

“I’m concerned about that,” Aveline said frankly at a now-daily Small Council meeting to discuss the wave of street fighting and the broadsheet. “I’m concerned that it means these people are coming from the north....”

“Mettin’s old mob, returning?” Caitlyn said darkly. “Question them.”

“They insist that they live here, and they always have someone to post bail and take them home.”

Caitlyn sighed. “Well, that mob did consist of Kirkwallers. They must have had relatives and friends.”

“Perhaps they are visiting for Satinalia,” offered Comte de Launcet naïvely.

Caitlyn tried to avoid laughing at him to his face. Several members of the Council were unable to conceal their own darkly amused smiles. “They are coming a week early if so, and insurrectionist propaganda is hardly a suitable gift. Aveline, increase the bail if they are supporting Meredith or opposing me. I don’t like setting these people free.”

Aveline raised her eyebrows disapprovingly at that, but she knew an order when she heard one. Across the table, her two noble allies also shifted uneasily. However, Varric seemed to agree, if resignedly, that harsh measures might be necessary, and Petrice, Anders, and Selby visibly approved of her order.

Caitlyn rubbed her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. _What have I become?_ she thought. When no one had any further business, she dismissed the meeting, hoping for time with her family and friends.

“I am going to speak again,” Mistress Selby said in a low voice to them when the others had left.

“Are you sure you should?” Caitlyn said, frowning. “The rebel Grand Clerics—and yes, I will call them that now—challenged two of the new rules. Shouldn’t we wait to see what comes of that before doing something else?”

“I was not going to speak of a different abuse—yet,” she replied. “I was going to tell the stories of some of the mage children whom my people have smuggled out, to keep people thinking of the subject even in this lull.”

“Is this safe for you personally?” Caitlyn said. “I would not want you to be accused....”

“Who controls the justice system of Kirkwall now?” she said with a smile.

Anders laughed. “She has a good point.”

“I care nothing about accusations, especially those that are true. Meredith already knows that the Mage Underground exists; what does it matter if she guesses who is the leader? It doesn’t make it easier for her to halt our work.”

Caitlyn managed a wry laugh at last; she had never thought of it that way. “As you like, then.”

* * *

Anders lurked in the background of the former Qunari building, hooded, cloaked, and hidden behind pillars. He periodically and discreetly renewed the glyph shield that glimmered in front of Selby. The guards tried to keep unfriendly people out, since fights were occurring again, but there was always a chance someone might fool them. He tried not to listen too closely to what she said. Since Mal’s freedom was still unfortunately not secured, it frightened and angered him—and it angered Justice. The last thing he needed was for the spirit to appear in public.

At last Mistress Selby finished her final story, an account of a girl who escaped the Gallows to see her dying grandmother one last time. Some people in the crowd were sobbing and wiping tears; others were smiling and applauding. A few bore righteous outrage at the fact that the girl had been kept from her family for most of the grandmother’s illness. However, the people seemed friendly to the message, whatever their reactions.

Anders breathed a sigh of relief as the crowd began to disperse. The guards on the sidelines visibly relaxed. Varric hefted his contraption over his shoulder, relieved as well.

Anders saw the strange, discrete flashes of red light, like glowing red sand flying through the air, a fraction of a second before they struck his glimmering glyph. It crackled like a bolt of lightning before dissipating in a green mist of raw magic.

He did not even think of his own safety. Jumping out from his place of hiding, he readied a spell to recast the protective barrier in front of the Mage Underground leader—

In the same moment, a cold wooden click, faint but still audible, shot through the air. A crossbow bolt struck Mistress Selby’s chest on the upper left, tearing through. She blinked once, as if in disbelief, before tumbling forward, blood pouring from her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut.

Even as the stragglers began to scream and flee, and Varric ran for the steps to help, Anders cast another glyph—hoping that _whatever_ had taken the first one down would not do it again. He cast a healing spell, bathing the landing in blue light, but he had seen where that bolt had struck and did not have much hope. He felt for a pulse. Nothing.

He felt sick and angry, almost giving way to the spirit, when someone tapped his arm and pulled him back gently. “It’s over,” said Varric in a grim voice. “You can’t help her, and you don’t need to be out in the open like this.”

Anders gazed out at the surrounding buildings, their windows suddenly menacing. The assassin had been hiding in there. And _what_ had taken down his shield? Shuddering, outrage and terror overtaking him, he nodded dumbly and ducked away from the edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of this story is original plot, off the canon map. “Here there be dragons.” And dark protagonists.


	25. Show the Cards and Embrace the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always! The song is “The Dark” by Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
> 
> Also on my playlist were “Jenny of Oldstones” (sung before the Battle of Winterfell); “The Steward of Gondor,” “I See Fire,” and “Gollum’s Song” from the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit soundtracks; and “I Am the One” from the other two DA games. (Yeah, there is a theme here, but lyrics of those ballads should not be taken as literal foreshadowing for the fic.)

Anders, Varric, Aveline, and Donnic trudged back to the Keep, escorted by a contingent of guards, a couple of whom were carrying Mistress Selby’s wrapped body on a litter. The seneschal was summoned to inform Caitlyn, who appeared shortly, shock, fury, and sorrow on her face. She gaped at the body as the guards set it down and turned to her friends and Anders. He stared back at her, rage in his own eyes too, unable to speak yet.

“There was nothing he could have done,” said Varric after a moment of awkward silence. “Nothing anyone could have done. It was... very quick, a crossbow bolt straight through the heart. I don’t think she suffered.”

Caitlyn stared at the wrapped body again, not quite able to process what she was hearing. Her ally, her Council member, her strongest co-conspirator in expanding mage rights, besides her own family.... “How?” she croaked. “Did she not want to be shielded?”

Anders finally managed to speak. “Something took my glyph down,” he said. “Red light. Then, in the next second... the assassin’s bolt.”

“Red light?” she exclaimed. “A _mage?_ What mage would side with _this?”_

“It could have been some sort of weird rune,” Varric said hurriedly. “Not necessarily a spell. I think there were two people, though. It was just too fast for one to take the glyph down and then aim a perfect hit. No offense,” he added at once. “I’m sorry for putting it that way.”

Caitlyn’s expression hardened. “I want the assassins’ heads decorating the gate. Or perhaps the Gallows walls,” she said. “Where are they now?”

Aveline and Donnic exchanged uneasy glances. “We couldn’t find them,” she said. “They were hiding in a building—that’s where the projectiles came from—but the guards searched and found no one, not even the weapons.”

Caitlyn took a deep, angry breath, trying not to explode at them. This was not their fault, and they had just witnessed a murder. “Search the city until you do find them. This is your top priority.”

“Understood, Your Grace,” said Aveline formally, nodding at once. She and Donnic bowed to take their leave and, with Varric following, left the couple.

“Where is Mal?” Anders finally managed.

“In his room with the dog,” Caitlyn said. “The seneschal told me and I didn’t want him to see....”

Anders gave her a tight hug, a sob escaping him as he did. As he embraced her, Caitlyn began to shake. Her eyes grew hot with tears and a lump formed in her throat. “Anders,” she whispered next to his ear. “Anders—this is my—”

He did not want to hear her finish that sentence. “No, it _isn’t,”_ he said firmly. “Don’t think that.”

“Meredith did hurt someone else,” she said in another whisper. “You warned that she would, and she did. Even if it was another who actually shot her.” She broke away and wiped her eyes, unable to look at him. “Selby had no family except her sister. I want her out of that Circle,” she said, her voice suddenly hard again. “I don’t care who has a problem with that. I don’t care if she won’t feel anything about her own sister’s death now.” The mere thought of it, of Tranquil being denied even the ability to experience grief for those they had once loved, sent Caitlyn’s rage to a towering inferno. “She is the only family left and Selby would have wanted her at her pyre. Maker, Anders... she wanted the chance to talk to her sister again.” The tears that she had been holding back gushed forth. “We told her about Justinia’s project....”

“And she died knowing that her sister might be restored. That’s better than dying without that hope,” he said brokenly. “If it succeeds, she will be one of the first people to receive the cure.”

Caitlyn nodded, closing her eyes. “Yes. We can at least do that.” She gazed one last time at Selby’s wrapped body before turning aside at once. “I need to be alone.” Without waiting for him to respond, she stepped aside and trudged back to the inner Keep.

Anders wanted to follow her, to comfort her, to share the pain... but he understood that sometimes one did need to be alone. He waited until she was inside the inner Keep before heading in to find his son instead.

* * *

Mistress Selby’s final speaking engagement had had a large crowd, and word of the assassination spread quickly across Kirkwall—along with the news that the assassins had taken advantage of the large, frightened crowd to blend in and escape. The fact that guards had been present at the speech and had still been unable to prevent the assassination also made the rounds quickly, and the people of Kirkwall, well accustomed now to acts of protest and vigilantism, reacted. By nightfall, a group of armed people had gathered at the Keep.

Aveline stormed into the outer Keep angrily after practically shoving her way through the vigilante guard clustered outside. “Where is the Viscountess?” she said to Seneschal Bran. “Does she know what is going on out there?”

“Her Grace has not left her quarters since the news came,” Bran replied. “She requested not to be disturbed for any reason short of the death of a friend or an attack on the Keep, which this is not. They... are on her side, in fact.”

“They are vigilantes gathered outside their ruler’s house with weapons.”

“Be that as it may, the Lord Consort has said that they may stay for now.”

“I see,” Aveline replied coldly. That explained a lot. “Then in that case, I hope that Her Grace ‘recovers’ soon.”

“Have you a message for me to take for when Her Grace does appear again? Were you able to find the assassins?”

“No. We weren’t. Hopefully by the time she comes out again, I will have better news for her.” With that, Aveline stomped off toward the guard barracks.

* * *

Caitlyn had locked herself inside her private study, accessible only from inside the master bedroom, and she had even warded the door to be sure that no one disturbed her. She had not cast veilfire or activated the fire runes on the dwarven lamps, leaving the room dim, the furniture casting shadows that were long and black. Left alone with only the crackling of flames in the fireplace for company, she stared into space, her thoughts increasingly bitter and dark.

 _Anders was right,_ she thought over and over. _He said that Meredith would hurt someone, and that is exactly what happened. It would not surprise me in the least if she knew about this. Were we not already worried that Mettin’s mob might be returning? If they have come back, if they have insinuated themselves into the population again, there are those among them who could take direction from Meredith. She has hurt someone again. He was right._

_It’s not like I had no warning. She tried to arrest me for years, stopping only when Petrice became Grand Cleric and declared me free. She did arrest Merrill, and because of it, Merrill couldn’t rejoin my Small Council afterward. She then cast a Holy Smite in my presence, knowing I was pregnant. Now, because of her—or people inspired by her, at the very least—a member of my Council is dead._

_This is a real blow. Selby was an ally, not a close friend, and her support depended on my getting results for mage rights, but of everyone on the Council—other than Anders—she was the staunchest, the most radical and pure in her ideals, of all, even including Marlein Selbrech. Marlein is an aristocrat. Selby was rich, but she was not titled, and she thought about the lower classes too. I could have forced these recent votes through on my own, but her speeches, her stories, helped people understand why they mattered so much. If I had said things like she did, it would have been dismissed by many as self-interest, since I am a mage, but she was not one. And I wouldn’t have had as many compelling stories to tell, either._

With this thought, Caitlyn’s mind turned down another, darker trail. _Maker! She was the leader of the Mage Underground! What will happen to them now? Surely they have a team structure, a lieutenant ready to take over if anything happened to her. Surely they won’t be crippled...._

Her mind turned back to its first trail of thought. _The situation is untenable and cannot continue. The Mage Underground shouldn’t need to exist much longer. This is beyond politics now, and we have to respond as if it is war. If these people came from the Alliance of the Faithful, it is war._

Heaviness filled her at that. _I do not want to lead a war,_ she thought. _I have enough blood on my hands already. I didn’t want any of this to happen this way. I just wanted to protect my family, to ensure that we were never torn apart again. That was how it all began. I didn’t even want to be Viscountess when I first came here; I just wanted to get Mother’s house back because I thought that a Hightown address would be enough to protect Mal and me. Then I met Anders again and learned of what he had suffered, and we decided to help all mages so that someday no one else would suffer what we had...._

_Helping all mages may mean fighting a war._

This realization sank into the pool of her thoughts like an anchor, embedding itself firmly. _And war means blood. It means blood and death._

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the flames. Her hands grew warm, and in one of them, small orange curls of fire vanished in the air, ghostly and yet menacing.

_If it is inevitable, then so be it._

* * *

Anders finished tucking Mal into bed. Heading back to the master bedroom, he frowned at the sight of the red arcane glyph gleaming on the wall, covering the door to Caitlyn’s study. Had she not even had dinner?

“Love, you need to come out,” he called gently through the keyhole.

There was a pause, a moment of silence, and then she replied. “Go to bed, Anders.”

Concern filled him. “Have you eaten?” he exclaimed. “Mal hasn’t seen you all evening! Have you left this room?”

“Go to bed. I’ll come out when I am ready.”

That told him all that he needed to know. “Caitlyn! Open the door!”

“Or what?” she snarled back.

He took a deep breath. “Or I’ll blast through.”

Another pause. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He picked up the nearest staff and held it at the door. He did not want to do this, but she was worrying him by sealing herself away like this for hours. She had not even seen the murder, while he had. What was she doing all this time, alone with only her dark thoughts for company? It frightened him, and he prepared to cast a spell that would tear down her glyph, knowing that it would also destroy the door.

The first blast of cold struck the door, rattling it on its hinges. The red lines of the glyph faded slightly. Through the door, he heard her spring to her feet, cursing angrily. He readied a second spell.

Before he could cast it, the glyph disappeared, and the door opened sharply. Caitlyn stood before him, furious. “Anders!” she exclaimed.

He dropped the staff at once and placed his hands gently and loosely on her shoulders, trying to comfort and calm her without doing anything that she might take as confinement or restriction. “I was worried,” he said, sincerity in his words and his expression. “I was afraid for your state of mind!” The rage in her face calmed slightly as he gently steered her to the small sofa next to their bed. He pulled her down to the seat and sat right next to her, not letting go. “Please,” he said, “talk to me about it, whatever it is. Don’t shut yourself away like that. I am here for you.”

Most of her anger melted away. Sighing deeply, she stared past him. When at last she was able to speak, her tone was low and bitter. “I believed that what I was doing was succeeding,” she said, still unable to look him in the eye.

He noticed it. “Look at me, darling.”

She hesitated again before finally mustering the nerve to do so. “I thought I could achieve our goals without more blood being spilled. I _believed..._ and now she is dead because of my foolish belief.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “She knew the dangers and took them on anyway, and her work made a lot of difference for mages—the Mage Underground work and her speeches. She left a legacy, and she was brave. Brave people sometimes die, and they knew they might. Let her have her courage, Caitlyn. Don’t blame yourself for this. We’ll find who did it.”

“That’s not the point,” she said wretchedly. “Does it even matter if we do? You were right, Anders. I had already realized that you were right about wanting big changes rather than a lot of small, gradual ones, but I think you were right about _everything.”_

 _Is she talking about that argument we had about assassinating Meredith?_ he wondered. “What do you mean, love?” he asked.

She sighed again. This was a hard, complex subject, and she had spent the greater part of the evening trying to sort out what it meant to her, what she thought, and why this hurt her _so_ much. “I have always been a confrontational person,” she said. “Even in Lothering, I said what I thought.”

He managed a weak smile. “That you did. I distinctly remember some things you said in those days that rather shocked me with their bluntness.”

She could not smile back. “It is my nature to want to say exactly what I believe and to fight for it... but I lost my taste for fighting physically and violently after I came to this city. I had to kill people, Fereldans, who turned to crime because they had no other choices, and I realized I could have been one of them. _Was,_ for the first year, when I was a smuggler. I didn’t like doing it.”

He held her gently, letting her get it all out.

“Then I had the ambition of becoming Viscountess and made the deal with Petrice, and I realized that I couldn’t say _exactly_ what I thought all the time if I wanted to keep her support... and later, of course, other allies too. That’s politics,” she said, managing to inject a wry tone very briefly. “And of course, as a mage, I couldn’t get what I wanted by fighting and violence either—not as Viscountess, at least. But this aspect of my personality, the combative, confrontational side, was always there. I was just able to satisfy and utilize it by trying to get the best terms for myself when I compromised with allies, and exerting power over my enemies, political or legal power. Some of it was _abuse_ of power,” she said sheepishly, “but it was still peaceful whenever possible.” She leaned forward, covering her face with her hands. “And I really believed that this way could work.”

“It _has_ worked,” Anders said. “You got some major reforms through.”

“They have been challenged, they are now at the mercy of a Divine who has been cautious, and the person who was instrumental to getting popular support for them just got assassinated. I followed the rules... I was aggressive and confrontational within the rules, but still followed them... but Anders... Meredith and her supporters don’t think the rules apply to them.” Her gaze hardened as she looked up to face him again. “And there is only one way to deal with people like that.”

“What are you saying?” he asked quickly, his heart beating. Did she mean what he thought she meant?

She took a deep breath. “I am saying that I think you were right about everything, including that peace is no longer an option. Meredith did not shoot that crossbow or whatever weapon took down your glyph. She may not have directed the attack on the clinic either. She has supporters who will do those things because they believe in those views, and there is nothing I can do to change their minds. Does it matter if I arrest and execute one or two? Does it even matter if Justinia _does_ sack Meredith? Elthina isn’t Grand Cleric, but it hasn’t stopped her from causing trouble. I still want Justinia on my side if war breaks out... but I don’t really see it as an ‘if.’ It’s coming, Anders.”

He thought about what she said and tried to gather his own thoughts before replying. “What do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. This isn’t only about the cause of mage rights. It’s also about our family, about protecting our children. If I had no children, if I didn’t have Mother or Carver or you, then... I might consider very extreme things.”

“You wouldn’t have needed to protect me. I would have been with you.”

She chuckled darkly. “All right, if we didn’t have Mal and this little one, and if Mother and Carver had died... then sure, you and I could have, I don’t know, blown up the Gallows together and run for it.”

His eyes gleamed in dark amusement at that idea. “How romantic,” he teased drolly.

“But we have our family to consider. I want to protect all of us, not endanger them with a rash act, but they are already in danger, and inaction will not protect them either.” She leaned against him. “I am preparing myself for the idea of fighting, but my biggest fear is that the spark of war will be the loss of someone I love, and I cannot accept that.”

“Of course not. Are you hinting that you want to retaliate and spark it that way instead?”

“I just hate the waiting,” she burst out. “Once I have accepted this idea, that dark, confrontational part of me just wants to have it over with.”

“I understand. That makes perfect sense to me. I know how it feels, love.”

“I thought you would,” she whispered. “But I _don’t_ want to be on the wrong side of an Exalted March. The idea is that we _win_ any fight we start.”

“We didn’t start this,” he pointed out. “As you said, you tried to follow the rules and do this peacefully and politically. They are the ones breaking traitors out of prison, distributing calls for insurrection, blowing up clinics, trying to make you miscarry, and killing members of your Small Council.”

She considered that. “You’re right. Again,” she added with a smile. “All right. You’ve helped me sort out what I think. Peace is no longer a chief goal for me and I do not really think it is a realistic one either. Maybe it never was. I will not restrict my choices with the aim of preventing war. But I _will_ restrict my choices to protect this family.”

He pulled her close and rested his cheek atop her head. “On that note, there are vigilantes outside the Keep. They support us,” he assured her when she moved sharply in his arms, “and I have told them that they are welcome to stay. I think we should have all the protection that we can get.”

“I agree. If they are here tomorrow, I will speak with them.” She gently extricated herself from his embrace. “I should tell Mal good night if he is still awake.”

“I think he probably is,” Anders said with a smile.

She caressed the side of his face. “Thank you for talking me through this.”

* * *

The next morning, after breakfast and before anything else would occupy her time, Caitlyn headed to the outer Keep with Anders and asked to have the leader of the vigilante group brought inside—disarmed—to meet with her. She could not disguise her surprise when that leader turned out to be Alain.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” Anders said, also surprised.

“Indeed I wasn’t, Your Graces,” he said. “It was a disorganized, leaderless group when I came. I learned about it overnight and decided to join them today. They set me in charge.” His face was set and angry, though obviously not at Caitlyn and Anders.

“What is the group’s objective?” Caitlyn asked. “If it’s to lodge a petition to bring the killers to justice, I assure you, we are furious about Mistress Selby’s assassination too. She was a close ally and this has left us in shock—but has not crippled us from acting.”

“We know,” Alain said. “We are here to protect Your Graces, in fact.” He lowered his voice so that no one could eavesdrop. “There are a few apostate mages in this group, as well as the other two.”

“Other two?”

“A group gathered overnight at the Chantry and a third at the Gallows. We consider you ‘our’ Viscountess, especially us mages and those non-mages who have mage relatives and friends. I mean... we are your subjects, but we also see Your Grace in a more specific way, because of everything that you have done, and we want to protect you and your family.” He considered for a moment as Anders and Caitlyn exchanged surprised, flattered looks. “All sorts of people came to the Keep steps overnight. The more religious ones see the Grand Cleric in the same light, as someone to protect. They see her as someone who identifies real threats to the faith even when it means a hard fight and sacrifice, rather than making a scapegoat out of mages because we are easier to attack. They have largely gone to the Chantry, and the Templar Ser Keran has taken over that group.”

“And the Gallows group?” Caitlyn said. “Somehow I am guessing that they have a different motive, since you are here and Meredith is the only ‘leader’ there now.”

He suppressed a wry smile. “They certainly do. They are demanding her resignation.” He glanced around quickly. “Grace is the leader of that group, but Ser Thrask is part of it.”

 _That_ surprised them. “Is he still a Templar?” Caitlyn exclaimed.

“To my knowledge. I don’t think she knows he is in it. He told me that he volunteered to leave the Gallows to ‘stand guard,’ but he’s with them.”

“She hasn’t tried to get rid of them?” Anders asked.

“Apparently, the Grand Cleric overrode her order to have them dispersed, since they haven’t been violent and are just making a petition, of sorts.”

“I’m glad she did,” Caitlyn said, surprised. “And what of the Guard-Captain? I heard that she was none too pleased with the group’s presence last night. Did she change her mind, since you are here?”

“I’m here in my capacity as First Enchanter, not as a member of the Arcane Guard,” he said, his face closing up. “She still is not happy.”

“The City Guard proved itself unable to protect Mistress Selby, a member of the Viscountess’s Small Council,” Anders said harshly. “Perhaps she should bring in the killers, if she wants to restore faith in the Guard.”

“Well, that’s Your Graces’ concern, of course,” Alain said. “For my part, I will just continue to control the Keep group, so long as you want us here.”

With this, the interview seemed to be at an end. Caitlyn dismissed him to the steps to resume overseeing the vigilantes there. She was a little concerned about the Gallows group, since they were not there to “protect” anyone and the leader was a person who had a history of being associated with violence, but she supposed that was likely why Thrask had decided to step in. And the truth was that she was nervous about leaving the Keep, since her enemies now had the ability to take down a magical glyph barrier with a single shot, and she had no idea what such a weapon even was, let alone how to counter it. She decided to leave the Gallows protesters be for now and talk with Aveline.

Aveline was in the barracks, filling out paperwork, an expression of fury on her face even before Caitlyn and Anders entered.

“I know he is there,” she seethed when Anders gleefully related Alain’s involvement to her. “I don’t like it a bit, and I am considering dismissing him from the Arcane Guard.”

“What?” Caitlyn exclaimed. “He would be sent back to the Circle if you did that! Aveline, we are friends, but I am also your Viscountess, and in that capacity, I forbid it. Unless you have a very good reason.” When Aveline’s eyes narrowed even further, Caitlyn continued, “What is your problem with these groups, anyway? I’m told that they have not been violent. Is that false?”

“Not that I know of,” Aveline said tightly. “Yet.”

“Then what is the issue? Do they interfere with guards’ duties?”

“No. But they are insolent to the official guards, sneering that they have to protect you and the Grand Cleric because we ‘obviously cannot.’”

“Being verbally insolent to the guards isn’t illegal if they are not interfering with you.”

“They are lawless vigilantes!” Aveline finally burst out. “They are usurping the authority of the rightful City Guard, and the presence of such a prominent member of the Arcane Guard makes it appear that I approved it! It makes it appear that we are working together, which makes me answerable for what they do, in the eyes of people—but I cannot actually give them orders. You must see the problem this poses, Hawke. You will be held accountable for them too.”

“That’s fine with me. I trust two of the three leaders, and the third group is a protest, not ‘vigilante protection’—and someone else I trust is watching it. Petrice has taken ownership of the Chantry group; they are her problem. If the ones here at the Keep do anything wrong, I’ll deal with it in the same way that you already deal with improper behavior by individual guards.”

“You will put your faith in self-appointed vigilantes rather than the Guard?”

Anders spoke up before Caitlyn could respond. “They are loyal to her,” he said hotly. “They are ‘self-appointed,’ here voluntarily, _because_ of that loyalty. The City Guard may or may not care about our family’s well-being.”

“You are implying that there are guards who might allow the Viscountess of Kirkwall to be assassinated,” Aveline said in icy tones.

“Her predecessor _was_ assassinated despite having guards around,” Anders retorted. “Vigilantes prevented the Qunari attack from being even worse than it was, while the guards couldn’t stop the Keep from being taken. And _his_ predecessor was handed off to Meredith Stannard. There have been problems through the years with treason and corruption in the Guard. You can’t deny that, since you found many of them yourself. I worry that you might not have found _all_ of them. What if Meredith has zealots there?”

“Are you questioning my competence?” Aveline demanded.

Caitlyn interrupted before this could get any worse. “That’s enough, both of you,” she said repressively. “The vigilantes outside the Keep and Chantry apparently are not getting into fights with anyone, nor are they interfering with the guards. They are expressing their support, and it’s an additional layer of protection. I’m not going to order them away.”

“The Gallows group isn’t protecting anyone. They are protesting.”

“They have the right to do that. Look, Aveline, all that these people want—the ones at the Keep and Chantry, at least—are the murderers. If the killers can be found and brought to justice, if their weapons can be confiscated so that we can learn how they did what they did, these people might see their confidence in the City Guard restored. But if you make _them_ your enemy while the killers walk free, it will only make it worse.”

Aveline looked defeated, but she could not argue against Caitlyn’s logic in her final point. “I’m doing the best that I can,” she said. “I really am, Hawke.”

“I know,” Caitlyn said in softer tones. “It’s hard on all of us. Let’s try to be aware and control it.”

* * *

After spending a blessed half hour with Mal in the family quarters, Caitlyn accepted that she had to go about her duties. She hated seeing Anders and Mal off to the clinic after the horrible event yesterday, even though the search rule implemented after the attack was still being enforced and the vigilantes guarded the Keep beside the City Guard. _I need to get to work,_ she thought, suppressing the pang in her heart as they closed the doors to the clinic behind them. _They will be fine. I have a lot of work to do after... what happened._ Sighing inwardly, she headed to her office—not the private study, but the office that was accessible to the seneschal and other officials. It had a window... and after a moment of consideration, Caitlyn prepared to cast a glyph at the glass from the inside. The office was three levels off the ground, but better to be _too_ careful....

A raven with a letter attached to its leg was perched on the windowsill.

Surprised, Caitlyn opened the casements to free the bird of its burden. She intended to find something to feed it, but after its rest, it was ready to take flight again and did so. She turned to the letter. It was short and lightweight, and it bore a thin wax seal with a sigil of a nightingale. She quickly checked it for spells before popping the wax.

 

_Your Grace,_

_I know this an unexpected messenger, but I have trained them and I know it will find its way to you safely. It is urgent that I tell you the truth about news you will hear in coming days._

_Divine Justinia has received the challenge to your new policies from the so-called “Alliance of the Faithful” clerics. Although she applauds what you have done, she regrets..._

 

Before she even finished this sentence, anger filled her mind, and her hands began to grow warm with burgeoning flames.

 

_...that she must put the two policies, those allowing Circle mages to live outside Circle quarters indefinitely, on hold for doctrinal review. She has directed trusted archivists and scholars to pore through old tomes and documents to find a text to affirm these laws. She approves of what you are doing, Caitlyn. She just wants to be sure that her endorsement is fully supported by Chantry documents so as to avoid a pretext, even a contrived one, for a northern schism. They are getting bolder in how they speak of her, even using the term “anti-divine.”_

_You may share this with Anders, but please keep it secret from others. I must once again ask you to keep the faith. You are not alone._

_Leliana_

 

Even in the tumult of anger, frustration, and an understanding of Justinia’s reasons that was obnoxious by its very existence in her thoughts, Caitlyn had the presence of mind not to leave this behind. She went to her bedroom and shuffled through her wardrobe until she found a loosely fitted set of old clothing from her days as a Lowtown vigilante. Stuffing the letter into a pocket, she grabbed a staff and headed to the guard barracks.

Aveline was surprised to see her again, but did not question as she helped herself to several stuffed training dummies. The guards had plenty, and they were easily created from scrap materials. Caitlyn dragged them to the stone-walled room where Mal practiced and set them up in a corner. She took a deep breath, imagining that they were her opponents and that they were screaming, pleading for their lives before her—that they were in _her_ power, primal and pure magic power, uncomplicated by worldly institutions. _I would do it,_ she thought. _I would now._ She focused her fury in her mind and cast a fireball.

Anders found her there later, facing a soot-blackened spot on the wall, the rag dummies burning and charred. Sweat coated her face and dampened her hair. Her usual finery was nowhere in sight, and instead she was wearing a simple set of black cotton and leather that fit loosely except around her pregnancy bump. Flames crackled from her palms as she gazed at him. Her appearance was striking and brought out a surge of desire in him, but he knew that this wasn’t the time, unfortunately.

The flames in her hands grew to a fireball, which she promptly heaved at the same blackened spot, knocking the dummies over. The fireball dissipated in a wave of rippling flames.

“What did the dummies do to you?” he said, trying to crack a weak joke.

She heaved a breath and took the note out of her pocket, handing it to him wordlessly and observing as he read. His eyes narrowed, and a crackle of spirit light passed over him. He let the note fall to the ground and then, in the next moment, blasted the corner with a fireball of his own.

They threw a few more fireballs to dispel their fury before finally falling into an embrace. She threaded her fingers into his hair and felt his arms around her shoulders. “When?” she said. “How much longer?”

He wished he had an answer.

* * *

The official post was delivered by courier that afternoon. Among the myriad of petitions and official correspondence that was not urgent was a letter from Amaranthine, bearing the griffon seal of the Grey Wardens and written in a familiar hand. Caitlyn quickly popped the seal and read it, carrying it into her family parlor as she did.

“What’s that?” Anders asked as she entered. He was casting a healing spell, with Baldwin as the patient. The mabari had stepped on a sharp stone at some point. Pounce watched, his tail flicking back and forth, seemingly enjoying the dog’s momentary misfortune.

“Carver is visiting for Satinalia,” she explained.

“Oh. Well, that’s nice, but it’s less than a week away. Do we need to do anything to accommodate him?”

“He’s staying with Mother.”

“Does he know that the city is in turmoil yet again?”

“He’ll find out,” she said grimly. “It’s pointless to write back telling him, because the letter won’t likely reach him in time before he leaves.”

“I’m glad to see him anyway,” Mal chirped. “Satinalia is fun. I like it almost as much as my birthday.”

“Why almost?” Anders teased.

The boy made a show of pondering the question. “Because I get my favorite food on my birthday,” he said slyly.

“Rascal,” Anders said affectionately, fluffing his son’s hair.

Caitlyn smiled tenderly. Although she had an inexplicable bad feeling about Carver’s visit—or perhaps about the holiday—she was still glad that, despite the darkness of the recent days, Mal was still able to enjoy holidays and make jests. She made a silent vow that she would hold a fun Satinalia party, just for her family and closest friends, and _try_ to forget all else for that brief time.

* * *

Aveline had no good news to report the next day. The guards were no closer to finding the killers or their weapons, and it was clear to Caitlyn that this fact frustrated her friend deeply. She tried to ignore Aveline’s obvious irritation, knowing that it was not really directed at her.

Anders did have pleasing news. “Alain is letting the vigilantes escort patients safely inside the Keep,” he said. “They’re worried that anyone who supports us will be targeted, even someone just seeing Healers, so they bring people in under guard. He told me that the ones at the Chantry are doing the same there for people who go to that clinic.”

“That is nice of them,” Caitlyn agreed, smiling despite everything.

“There are a couple of them also scouting Darktown and Lowtown for people who are ill but who are afraid to come. These are good people.”

“I never said they weren’t,” she said, her smile growing broader.

“I know,” he said softly. “I just hope that _the Guard-Captain_ recognizes that she was wrong.”

Aveline glowered. “It’s good that these two groups have not posed problems. I am glad to be wrong about them... so far.”

“What are the ones at the Gallows up to?” Caitlyn asked. “The same?” Official news of Divine Justinia’s order placing two of the new policies on hold had not yet reached Kirkwall, so her foe could not gloat, but it was clear that Justinia was not yet ready—if she ever would be—to sack Meredith as the protesters wished.

“I am glad that you asked,” Aveline said pointedly. “There was an incident there this morning that Ser Thrask had to calm. Meredith came out, and they began to throw rotten food and clumps of mud at her.”

Anders muffled a snort of laughter.

“It’s _not funny,”_ Aveline said. “Meredith tried to order their arrest, but the leader, Grace, challenged her to fight them if she wanted them gone.”

“Which I presume didn’t happen,” said Caitlyn.

“No, she issued a threat of her own and went back inside.”

“Too cowardly to take on a crowd alone, then,” seethed Anders. “She doesn’t mind attacking pregnant women when they are relatively isolated, or dragging elves out of their homes.”

“You should not _want_ a fight,” Aveline said harshly. “As I said, I am glad that the ones here and at the Chantry are behaving decently and helpfully, but this Gallows group is something else, and that Grace is very arrogant.”

“We don’t want her actions to reflect poorly on us,” Caitlyn interjected. “I will write a statement and send it with you, Aveline.”

Aveline nodded, pleased that Caitlyn at least agreed about this.

After she had returned to work, Varric approached them more discreetly. Caitlyn realized that he wanted to talk alone and beckoned him into an office. “How long are you two going to stay indoors?” he began after the doors shut.

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn said. “I know we can’t stay indoors forever, but I am not comfortable going out this soon, with some unknown weapon that can take down magical wards in a killer’s hands. And the other weapon was a crossbow. I wouldn’t even see an attack coming. _That_ is what scares me.”

“And she is seven months pregnant,” Anders defended her, “and very recognizable. Your hair is beautiful,” he said to Caitlyn apologetically, “but it’s also unusual and distinctive. Between that, the baby bump, and the staff on your back....”

“Then I suppose I am finally being cautious and not endangering myself.”

Varric chuckled. “Point taken. But something has come up, on top of every other bloody thing going on here. I’ve been contacted by someone looking for Daisy and who thinks, rightly, that I know where she is. Haven’t given her up.”

“What?” Caitlyn said. “Who? It had better not be a Templar again.”

“It’s an Antivan Crow master. He is hunting a former Crow who left the guild and is hiding out with the Dalish. This runaway seems to have been one of the Hero of Ferelden’s companions during the Blight, allegedly. Did the pure, noble Lady Cousland really hire an assassin?”

“Not really. I joined after he had left,” Anders said thoughtfully, “but there was a Blight companion who had been a Crow. _He_ had been hired to kill _her_ and swore loyalty to her instead when she defeated him.”

“Then perhaps you should find these Crows and get them to let him alone, and Daisy too,” Varric said, “or conscript him into the Wardens, if nothing else.” It was perfectly clear to Caitlyn that he wanted to get Anders something to do so that he would not take it into his head to visit the Gallows protesters, but in truth, Caitlyn could not fault Varric for that plan.

Anders looked from one face to the other, guessing what they had in mind, but it did not bother him. Another idea had entered his mind, and he regarded this as a good opportunity. “I’ll go,” he said. “It’ll be a nice change.”

* * *

When Anders set out to meet with the Crows and their target the next day, he did not go alone, but instead invited all of Caitlyn’s friends to go along except Aveline—even Fenris, despite his dislike of the man. He did not actually expect Fenris to agree to go with a group that _he_ would lead, but to his surprise, Fenris went too.

The Crow boss who had sent out a squad to try to apprehend Zevran, the former Crow who had joined the Wardens’ party years ago, was an Antivan named Nuncio. He had sent requests to Varric seeking “help” in apprehending an assassin who was trying to claim sanctuary with the Dalish on the mountain and believed Varric had the connections to get in, having heard of “the Viscountess’s little Dalish friend,” as Merrill put it with an angry sneer. Varric had known immediately who Nuncio was due to his underworld connections.

Anders had heard some very unpleasant things about the Crows, namely, that they effectively practiced slavery—and often actually did purchase their “assets.” A Crow assassin might not have willingly chosen that career, but instead had been bought, trained to kill, and then coerced into murdering whomever the contract said to murder, on penalty of death. And not just for refusal, but for failure, even if—as had been the case with this Zevran—the Crow had survived that failure. On reflection, Anders suddenly realized why Fenris was exercised enough about this to overcome his dislike of Anders. It was rather disgusting to Anders too. It reminded him of the coercion that tyrants like Meredith Stannard imposed on mages, and he hoped that at least one or two of the assassins would be mages, so that he could make them see that. _If we are lucky today,_ he thought hopefully as they headed up the mountain, _we won’t have to kill all of the Crows, and even if we are unlucky, Zevran might just get a new job._

“You are admitted because your Viscountess has been an ally to us,” said the Dalish sentry, glowering at them—Merrill in particular—as he let them in.

It took some time for the elves to give up the assassin’s location, and they only did so after Anders assured them that he was not going to hand the man off to the Crows to be killed, but instead was going to get him away from the clan so that the Crows would not descend upon the mountain and attack. He finally led his companions into the hiding place.

“Ah,” said an accented voice heavy with irony, “so I have escaped the Crows only to be captured by city authorities! You do know that prisons are not safe from the Crows, do you not?”

“We’re not here to take you to prison,” Anders said, coming into the man’s line of sight.

A blond elf with a sly expression on his face beamed back. “The surprises never end! You are the Viscountess’s husband, are you not... but these are not guards. The Siren would never join the Guard. An _unofficial_ operation, then!”

“It’s been a while,” said Isabela, her voice very sultry as she eyed him.

Zevran rose to his feet and bowed to her. “And you are as lovely as ever.”

“Such a smooth talker.”

Anders cleared his throat pointedly. It didn’t surprise him in the least that these two knew each other, and he wondered if this might have been the assassin whom Isabela hired to kill her husband... but there was business to do. “Ahem. We are here to get you away from the Dalish—and from the Crows, if need be. I know who you are. You served Lady Cousland six years ago.”

“Indeed, and a lovely lady she is too, although she could not ‘appreciate’ the masculine physique—”

“Watch your tongue,” Anders warned. “She was my commander.”

“Ah, so you _are_ a Warden.” The elf’s eyes suddenly became wary. “Is that your intent, to conscript me to protect me from the Crows? I regret to tell you that I... rather do not want to join the Grey Wardens. It is another chain, and I do like my freedom, having found it at last.”

“I understand _that._ Let’s just handle your former colleagues, then.” _For now,_ he added in thought.

They left the Dalish encampment, Merrill looking sorrowful again as she gazed at Keeper Huon as he bade them farewell. For a moment Anders wondered if it had been a mistake to bring her, but it would have been unkind to exclude her, and she _had_ chosen to go. Perhaps she would eventually come to terms with everything that had happened. He hoped so.

He did not care overmuch about what happened between Fenris and Isabela, but it was interesting to him in a lurid way to observe discreetly as Isabela and the assassin flirted shamelessly in front of Fenris. Curiously, the Tevinter elf did not seem to mind. _Knowing her, she’d probably ask him to make it a three later,_ Anders thought, a hint of disgust filling his mind at that, _and he might accept. Maybe they all like to express their love of freedom that way. For my part, I just wanted the freedom to be a mage with a normal life, to love one faithful partner... but maybe they are different. It’s their affair anyway._

Nuncio and his Crows, a very large contingent of them, were waiting for the group in their own encampment. Anders quickly scanned the group as he approached. None of them were carrying staves... so no mages, he thought in disappointment... but he was pretty sure he spied tattoos on most of them, marking their enslavement to the assassins’ guild. Behind him, Fenris was also glowering at the sight.

Nuncio was furious, immediately realizing the betrayal. He was about to give the order to the assassins to attack, clearly not caring in the slightest that he was attacking the consort to a head of state, when Anders cut him off.

“Stop this!” he exclaimed to the assassins. “You do not have to do as your master bids and kill your brother. You outnumber your master!”

Several of the assassins wavered. Others hardened their gazes.

Fenris spoke quickly. “You are slaves,” he said. “I was too. I did terrible things because my master ordered me to—but no longer.”

“Silence!” demanded Nuncio. “You all know the penalty for betrayal.”

“I am a Crow,” said one of the assassins, a better-dressed one with gleaming daggers. Three other assassins quickly joined him.

The rest exchanged swift looks with each other and edged toward the newcomers. In outrage, Nuncio attacked—and with that, the battle was joined.

Anders and Merrill quickly cast magical shields around themselves and their allies, trying to curse the hostile assassins when they had the chance, and targeting the leader most of all. The encampment soon became soaked with blood, for every one of the Crows had sharp blades, and even when they could not land a lethal hit, they could draw blood with little effort. It was too constant and steady for Anders to justify casting group healing spells all the time, as he quickly discovered. _Caitlyn could use all this blood to power spells and heal her own wounds,_ he thought darkly, _but she gave that up. And not one of us would have stood for her fighting this battle as Viscountess of Kirkwall and with a baby on the way. I am glad she is safe at home._

But his companions were seasoned and battle-hardened, and they were not without skills of their own. Isabela also knew how to wield daggers, Varric and Merrill could keep to the fringes with him and attack from a distance, and Fenris could utilize his lyrium markings to dash from place to place and attack with great speed.

Anders felt a pang as he saw one of the Crows who had sided with him go down. The Crow master withdrew his blades from the dying man’s back and leaped toward Anders. He stiffened, readying a spell to stun Nuncio.

Out of seemingly nowhere, Fenris darted in with an aura of the Fade about him and swung his blade, catching Nuncio’s side. The man fell to his knees. Immediately Anders, Fenris, and all who were nearby began to pile on, not giving him a chance to get back on his feet and attack again. With his defeat, the remaining hostile Crows went down quickly.

Anders breathed heavily, as it became apparent that no one else was fighting, and cast a group healing spell. He gazed out and counted. There were eight Crows—former Crows, he supposed—plus Zevran who had survived the fight. They looked uncertainly at each other, unsure of what to do now.

Anders decided to make his offer. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for your help,” he began. “If you are concerned about being hunted by others in your guild, I have an alternative: Work for me. You too, Zevran.”

Varric glanced at Anders, eyebrows raised in shock.

“Work for you?” Zevran repeated warily. “In what manner?”

“Not what you think,” he said, _for now, anyway._ “One of my wife’s allies was assassinated recently. The Viscountess’s Keep could use skilled fighters who know how to detect threats and can respond quickly. I can’t think of anyone better than Crows.”

The ex-Crows glanced at each other, nodding. One of them, a particularly good fighter who had apparently been a lieutenant, spoke for the others. “We accept your offer and pledge our blades to your family’s service.”

Zevran had not agreed to the offer, Anders noted. Frowning, he approached the elf as the group, now with swelled numbers, began to head back to the city.

“If you are truly determined to leave, I can’t stop you,” Anders said, “but you will be hunted by Crows wherever you go, and you may not find allies everywhere. If you don’t want to be a bodyguard again, what do you say to investigating?”

“Investigating what? Or perhaps I should say who? A certain Templar?”

“Maker’s breath, you are irritating,” Anders muttered. “You obviously know who. As for what, I want to know three things: Did Meredith Stannard know anything about the plot to assassinate Mistress Selby, did she know about a bomb attack on a healing clinic in my wife’s Keep last year, and is she conspiring with a former Templar named Mettin?”

Zevran considered this. “I have heard of these events. It may be difficult to find proof of the latter, unless this Mettin himself comes to Kirkwall.”

“If she knew anything about either of the attacks, that’s good enough. There are dozens of people who formed a mob of mage-haters and might know if she conspired with their leaders, and they may be back in Kirkwall.”

“And if I do find such proof?” Zevran drawled, caressing one of his blades. “You would have me act, no? That is the endgame?”

Anders glowered. “My wife is the Viscountess of Kirkwall. I won’t have anyone assassinated without her knowledge and approval.”

“That is admirable,” Zevran approved. “Very well. I owe you a debt, so I will investigate the Knight-Commander... but after that, I may yet take my leave. I have business to conclude with my former employer.”

* * *

Caitlyn was shocked and rather hurt when Anders marched back into the Keep with a detail of former Crows in tow, but she recovered quickly.

“Anders,” she said, taking him aside out of their earshot, “have you done what I think you’ve done?”

“I doubt it,” he assured her. “They owed me their lives, and I am letting them repay that debt by protecting our family. They have interesting expertise. A couple of them know all about poison detection... some are extremely sharp-eyed... one of them has a pendant with a rune that lets him blend into the shadows... and after what happened to Selby, I just thought....”

She smiled in relief, giving him a hug. “Oh. Well... you _would_ tell me if you told them to do something _else,_ wouldn’t you?”

“I would _ask_ you,” he said firmly. “It would mean war, and I swear, Caitlyn, I would not make a decision like that without asking your permission.”

She pecked his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Zevran is going to investigate Meredith,” he continued. “He is going to look into the people in Mettin’s mob to see what they may know of her involvement in... certain events.”

“Good,” she said in hard tones. “I’ve had enough of pretending to respect and work with her. If he finds anything, it is going to Justinia at once.”

 _And let’s hope that she will act on the findings of a former Crow,_ Anders thought cynically.

“You’re home!” exclaimed a boyish voice. They broke apart and whirled around to see Mal smiling at them. “Are they really Crows? I want to talk to them.” Beside him, the mabari barked and wagged his tail.

Anders laughed. “They are—or were—and yes, you may talk to them, but... your mother or I should be there too.”

“All right,” he said agreeably as he joined his family.

* * *

Anders was immensely pleased with how the deal with the Crows—former Crows now—had gone. He would not trust them enough to let them into the inner Keep, trusting only his and Caitlyn’s magic for that, but he still felt a lot safer now with them insinuated into the outer Keep. And Zevran himself was sneaking about Lowtown, or soon would be, looking into the people who were part of Mettin’s old mob. If he could come up with hard evidence against Meredith, it would be over for her.

All in all, it had been a successful day, and it became even better when Carver’s ship came in and Carver himself stepped off it with his family and Kirkwall friends waiting. A group of guards, vigilantes, and two ex-Crows stood behind, relaxing only when Carver stepped into a carriage next to his mother, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew, and the door was closed behind him.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” Caitlyn said to him.

He grunted. “Likewise. You’re pretty far along, aren’t you?” he added, noticing her baby bump.

“Oh, Carver, don’t be rude,” Leandra chastised, but Caitlyn just laughed.

Beside her, Anders smiled. “Seven months,” he said, wrapping an arm possessively around her waist. “And it has been wonderful to watch the changes this time.” Caitlyn took his hand tenderly, giving him a quick smile.

“It’s a girl,” Mal spoke up. “Father has a spell that can show him.”

Carver had already known this, but he had no intention of being brusque with his young nephew. That was reserved for his sister and Anders. “So you’ll have a little sister in two months. The next time you have a birthday, there will be a new baby and you will be a big brother.”

Mal had apparently not considered that particular aspect, and he was struck silent for the rest of the ride.

“I should warn you,” Caitlyn said in a low voice, “the city is on edge again.”

“I gathered that from the full complement of guards.”

“One of the members of my Council—a very close ally on the issue of mage rights, at that—was assassinated in broad daylight a few days ago,” she said. Carver’s blue eyes widened in shock. “Anders had a magical glyph in front of her for her protection, but the assassin had an accomplice who had some sort of runed weapon—we think—that took it down in one shot. We still have not found the people who did it, and we already suspected that the mob behind the attack on the clinic was back in town. There is a broadsheet from the north that’s circulating, too. Be careful, Carver. When you come to the Keep, send a messenger in advance so that you can have an escort too.”

The carriage rolled down the streets, where people were setting up Satinalia lanterns, ribbons, and décor. Satinalia Eve was the next day, and people would feast and celebrate for two days—or more. _I just hope that no one takes advantage of the holiday to do something else terrible,_ she thought. _It would be a perfect time, while people are feasting, playing, and drinking._

The carriage turned a corner into the more well-to-do quarter of Lowtown. Outside a tavern, several people were raising a large full-face mask made of lightweight wood. Although it was meant to resemble the mask of an Orlesian harlequin, no person would ever wear this mask; it was easily eight times the size of a real one, and it was painted... garishly. In fact, Caitlyn thought as she stared at the object, there was something distinctly unsettling, even scary, about the sharp contrasts of color and outline. _Why_ were gaps between the teeth outlined in red, like blood trickles? Then there was the manic clown face—more a sinister leer than a comedic smile—and the vast, empty eye sockets.

The group of people lifted the ghastly thing into position, dangling in front of the tavern from the upper floor. Candle flames from inside the tavern flickered out through the thing’s black eye sockets, like a demonic mimicry of pupils. Caitlyn turned away and shuddered. Didn’t these people see how horrifying it was? In the next second, the wind caught the thing and made it sway side to side. The candle flames seemed to shift from one side of the thing’s black eyes to the opposite.

“Do you want to arrest those people for scaring all the children on their block?” Anders muttered in a voice that only she could hear.

“I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” Caitlyn confessed. She took his hand and squeezed it. Mercifully, the carriage turned the corner and entered Hightown. As it rolled toward the Amell house to let out those who lived there, she breathed a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the brief moment of fourth-wall-breaking in Caitlyn’s and Anders’ big talk.
> 
> There may be a bit of a delay for the next chapter. I will say right now that it will be major, both for plot and for character development, and I want to get that right, as it has been in the plans for almost a year.


	26. Blood-Red Carpets Before Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience!
> 
> The song is “Planet Hell” by Nightwish.
> 
>  **Warning** : Violence throughout the chapter, some of it hard M, and another very dark moment for a main character.

_The Viscountess’s Keep, 30 Harvestmere Dragon 9:36, Satinalia Eve._

The family quarters of the Keep were in a state of controlled chaos, Caitlyn thought. All of her friends and her close family were here—which by itself meant an increased level of chaos—but the free flow of food and drink, as well as the general giddiness and joy that this day brought, meant that the place was barely on the right side of “controlled” at all.

Mal had all the exuberance of a child who was excited and had had too much dessert. He ran in circles around the table, stopping occasionally to hide behind a chair or slip under the table, or to whip the black cloak that he had dug out of a closet around himself, declaring that he was the legendary Black Fox—but _magic_ Black Fox. He usually got an additional sweet from the nearest person when he did, and Caitlyn had not yet had the heart to put a stop to that—though she knew she soon would have to. The mabari barked joyously beside Mal, following in his footsteps except when the boy insisted that he was “giving him away” with his barks.

Although the evening meal was officially finished, some guests continued to gnaw on joints of meat from a large roast boar. The feasters had shredded the boar, leaving behind little but picked bones and inedible strips of fat. Gamlen Amell reclined sloppily in his chair, picking his teeth with a metal pick, an oversize tumbler of wine in one hand. For the holidays, Caitlyn had decided not to be a scold about it, even to him. Leandra sat next to him, sipping wine, eating primly with knife and fork. Beside her was Charade, who Caitlyn was quite sure was the primary culprit in giving Mal more and more candy, based on the furtive, sly grin she gave the boy when he stopped near her. _Does she have a purse somewhere with sweets in it?_ Caitlyn wondered. Next to them was Varric, who had propped his feet on the empty chair beside him. He chatted casually with the Amells about business and trade, a foaming flagon of ale in one hand, which dripped onto the floor with his sweeping gestures.

The couples of the group were more private and subdued. Carver and Merrill were speaking quietly, heads bent, oblivious to the others. Aveline and Donnic were still in full guard armor, their swords and shields at the ready just in case something came up in town that demanded their personal attention, but they were also looking quiet and privately contented, clearly enjoying the night off duty. Fenris had a large bottle of Tevinter red to himself, and he was drinking directly from it, but he too looked thoughtful. Next to him, Isabela savagely hacked apart the bones on her plate with one of her lethal daggers.

Caitlyn gazed at the silver goblet in front of her own empty plate. It had held grape juice. Sighing, she sipped the dregs. _I miss wine,_ she thought—but her right hand found its way to her large bump immediately, and that banished the thought from her mind. She stole a glance next to her and remembered that Anders, her sweet, considerate Anders, was also drinking grape juice in solidarity so that she would not be the only one.

Next to her, he yelped. She glanced quickly at him, but there was no reason for concern. A yellow-orange tabby tail, arched back, and fuzzy ears popped up from the edge of the table as Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who had managed to sneak into the room, settled in his master’s lap. Anders grimaced in mild exasperation, but Caitlyn knew he was whipped by this cat, and sure enough, in the next moment, he began to pet Pounce with dutiful strokes.

“You jump on me with your claws out,” Anders murmured to the cat, “and I still reward you. _Why_ do I reward you, hmm?”

“To stay in practice for rewarding me when _I_ jump on you with claws out?” Caitlyn said, feeling playful.

He shot her a grin. “He has to rub and ‘pet’ _me_ too, you know. That is what makes it all right for him to claw me with his sharp little claws,” he said, turning to the purring cat as he finished the second sentence, his voice gooey and childlike at the end.

“I don’t mind that stipulation.”

Anders’ grin broadened. “I’ll remember that.”

* * *

_Beneath the tunnels of Darktown._

A crowd of angry faces glared in the red, flickering light cast by the torches that every tenth person or so carried. Shadows danced on the stone walls of the cavern as the two leaders stood before the group. Their tall, rectangular helmets concealed their faces, but everyone knew who one of them was, and many of them knew who the second, his lieutenant, was. They wore Templar uniforms in crimson and gold, but their armor was black rather than silver.

“Tonight the heretics, the blasphemers, and the apostates who have stolen this city began their feasting before their day of gluttony and licentiousness. Not a sacred day for the Maker and His Prophet, but a celebration of the moon, like the knife-eared heathens and barbarian tribes,” seethed Mettin beneath his helmet. “A pagan event and an excuse to sin.”

The crowd roared, eyes wide and wild, torches raised.

“Little do they know that they will not have that chance _this_ year!” The roars grew louder, and Mettin continued. “This year, the Maker has called us—all of you—to lead the charge of His soldiers against the vile infection that spreads in this city.”

The second Templar remained silent as he stood next to Mettin, watching the crowd yell, rage, and froth at Mettin’s words.

“We will tear off every bit of infected tissue, cleansing and purging this city with clean steel, the Maker’s own steel!”

“Aye!” screamed a woman, near tears with emotion. She raised her curved sword high, immediately followed by several people near her. The torchlight flickered in reflection on the blades.

“And then, when we reach the origin, the filthy, festering heart that pumps this befouled blood throughout the body of Kirkwall, we will _cut it out!”_

A raging, bloodthirsty cry filled the cave as everyone raised either a torch or a blade—or both—high in the air.

Mettin was yelling too, caught up in the moment. “You know what to do! You _know_ who the mage sympathizers are. For a month you have kept your patience and watched them, confirming their wickedness, their acceptance or even _agreement_ with the apostate and the abomination! They get one chance to repent and join us, or otherwise go straight to the Void! The Maker Himself curses them and you are the instruments of His will!”

_“Curse them!”_

“And when we have purged all the heretics and apostates, the Knight-Commander and the true Grand Cleric will restore order and decency. They will reward you! And fear not, those who fall will be martyrs for Andraste and will have a far greater reward! For Kirkwall and the Maker!”

“For Kirkwall and for the Maker!”

The group began to disperse, emotions and blood running high and heated. Mettin turned proudly to the other Templar, who had remained silent. “They will have magic wards at the Keep,” he said. “We alone can take them down. Best that we wait.”

“There is a secret entrance to the basement of the apostate’s old home,” his companion finally spoke up. “Thrask knew of it, but he never told me where.”

“We will find it. The Maker is on our side.”

* * *

As the riled mob left the cave, it broke up into smaller units that quickly scattered. Some units were leaderless, but most had one person who directed them. Without Mettin’s presence, some of the leaders were willing to take their murdering rampage even further than the former Templar had urged.

“Dog Lords and Orlesians have taken over the city,” snarled one man bearing a torch and a sword. “The apostate has an alliance with Ferelden, and she was one of them. We must assume that all dogs support her—and most of the scum in Darktown are dogs—”

Someone in this group let out a cackling, mocking howl that he supposed must have sounded like a wild dog. The others laughed.

“They have even installed an Orlesian in the house of the Maker! Never, ever forget _why_ the oxmen attacked the city—the Orlesian false priest schemed with the apostate. And the Rivaini whore who provoked it all was rewarded, and now flaunts her indecency in these streets and in the Keep! No more!”

Even though the amount of gang violence had been decreasing of late, the residents and frequenters of Darktown were long accustomed to armed gangs storming through, and those who were not involved in organized crime themselves knew to get out of the way, since gangs not involved in slaving would generally kill only their intended targets. They had begun the scramble upon seeing a knot of armed men and women coming their way, dashing for nooks and crannies, trying to quickly put out a celebratory campfire—

“Ey! You got the wrong folks! I haven’t done nothing to you!” protested a man, a bottle of whiskey still in his hand.

The Darktowner’s accent was so heavy that it left no doubt. “Fereldan mongrel!” the mob leader snarled. He hefted his blade.

The man tried to run, but it was too late. The mob leader cleaved through his torso with a squishy, gruesome _thunk._ With a look of disbelief on his face, the dying man tumbled to the ground, broken glass clinking and amber liquor mixing with red blood.

A woman’s scream filled the air as another member of the mob cut her throat. She gurgled and collapsed, clutching her throat, red streaming through her fingers.

“Why are you doing this?” cried the last survivor of the group, an older woman, apparently the mother of one of the couple. She had given up.

“This is _our_ city, and we are taking it back.” The leader swung his blade.

* * *

Another, much larger group stormed through Lowtown: the most fanatical of the mage-haters, who regarded the clinic bomber as a martyr and who had no special animus for the foreign-born. The group had grown as various cells that had initially formed upon the conclusion to Mettin’s speech coalesced together again out of a shared purpose. By the time they reached the main residential neighborhoods of Lowtown, there were close to one hundred of them, all armed, terrorizing the townsfolk as they burned and murdered.

A skinny woman with a pinched face and a sharp dagger on her belt consulted a marked map. An evil smirk formed on her face as she pointed at a particular door. “A mage sympathizer!” she proclaimed. A large thug stormed to the door and kicked.

Scuffling sounded from within the house. The thug kicked again, shattering the door on its hinges. A dozen of the group entered the house in a fury, weapons brandished. Most of the mob merely stood guard or even spread out to harass other Lowtown residents. There were so many in the mob that they did not have to focus on one target at a time.

“Get out!” screamed a man, clutching what was obviously a kitchen knife.

The thug and the mean-faced woman laughed at the weapon. “Join us and we will spare you!” she taunted, jerking her razor-sharp dagger out of her belt sheath. “Redeem yourself for your sin by fighting beside us tonight, and we will spare your life!”

The man gave a desperate glance backward, but only for a moment. “I _won’t!”_ he roared, charging the group in a desperate, futile last stand.

He lasted only seconds. The dozen or so of the religious fanatic mob withdrew from his house, leaving his corpse in a pool of blood, his right arm attached by only a strip of skin, the Satinalia decorations still hanging in a macabre, twisted mockery of the innocent joy that the household would have experienced the next day.

No one saw the young girl who had scampered in terror under a bed after the first kick on the door, the person her father glanced back at for a fraction of a second. She had known to fear heavy kicks on the door, and although her father had raised a toast to the ascension of the mage Viscountess when Lady Hawke had been crowned, that had not assuaged _her_ fear. Tonight, her fear saved her life. Even as her young heart broke when she saw him die, she kept her silence. She waited several more minutes after the murderous thugs left her house, slipping out the back when she heard dozens of screams and shouts in her neighborhood, accompanied by the clash of steel.

She ran and ran, not daring to defend herself, because she knew that if she did, she would instantly be marked for death. Killers were everywhere. The largest group seemed to be in her neighborhood—she closed her eyes as if that could remove the memory of the blood in the street that she had seen when she fled her house—but she saw another group on the way to Hightown. Their faces, torches, and blades were terrible. What was happening? _They are killing everyone who supports mages,_ she realized desperately. _They are killing all of us, and then they are going to go after the Viscountess and all her friends._

She rounded a corner into the aristocratic district—and immediately ran straight into an armored blond man. As she fell backward, horror overcame her as she realized that the armor was _Templar_ armor. She scrambled to her feet.

“Ser!” she exclaimed as the Templar turned around, shocked. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! Please don’t hurt me!”

Ser Cullen drew back. “I’m not going to hurt you!” he exclaimed. “Why would you think that? What are you running from, little girl?”

She hesitated, unsure if she should trust him. He did not seem to know what was going on, which meant that he was not part of the murderous mob, but he was still a Templar. Ever since Alison Dupres-Trevelyan had shown magic, her father, her poor father, had warned her to be especially careful around Templars.

And yet, she could tell this Templar what was going on without revealing her secret. Shuddering, tears filling her eyes as she finally allowed herself to accept what had just happened, she emptied herself.

* * *

_The Keep._

“I have _not_ had too much! Watch this!” At that, Isabela flung a dart at the plank with a scribbled target on it that was serving as a makeshift dartboard. “Beat _that,_ Varric!”

Varric scoffed, and with a single, almost silent movement, broken only by the sound of Bianca’s mechanism, he shot a bolt into the sloppily drawn bull’s eye. He gazed pointedly at Isabela. Her thrown dart was on the third ring.

The pirate scowled. “I could hit dead center too if I had that thing.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Caitlyn glanced uneasily at Anders. This was getting out of hand. Mal lay sleepily against his father, the dog and cat also dozing away. Leandra too had retired to the parlor, and Carver and Merrill had stepped away to a balcony. Even Gamlen had gone to bed—or rather, collapsed on a sofa in the parlor. But other guests were at the point of being obnoxious. Anders looked back at her, nodding silently. They seemed to be in agreement.

A loud, aggressive knock on the dining room door stopped everyone.

“Guard-Captain! Your Grace! It’s Thrask—and this is urgent!”

Caitlyn rose to her feet at once. From a corner, looking strangely relieved at what seemed to be the call of duty, Aveline and Donnic also stood at attention. At the table, Isabela and Varric settled down, seriousness overtaking their features again. Anders glanced regretfully at the door as Caitlyn bade Thrask enter; it seemed that he would soon be extricated from the warm heap of cat, dog, and his son piled against him.

He closed the door. “I am sorry to intrude upon your privacy like this, Your Grace,” he said. “There is a child I brought to the outer Keep. I know it is an imposition, but she _very_ abruptly has no one, and if you....”

“We can shelter her there,” Caitlyn said at once, not giving it a moment’s hesitation. “But what’s happened? Why did you bring her _here?”_

The Templar steeled himself. “There is an insurrection taking place in the city this very moment.”

 _“What?”_ she breathed, green eyes wide.

“A violent, murderous mob,” he said grimly. “They have apparently killed dozens in Darktown and Lowtown already, including her father. They are targeting ‘mage sympathizers,’ supporters of Your Grace, and the foreign-born, it seems. And they mean to regroup and attack the Keep. Ser Cullen was the first person she saw in Hightown after she escaped the carnage. He brought her to me. He and Ser Agatha have gone to the Chantry to warn the people there.”

“Mettin’s mob,” Caitlyn said, her mind instantly putting it together. Her voice was strikingly cold as she rose to her feet. “How many?”

Thrask gazed down, sorrow and anger in his face. “We estimate at least a hundred, all armed. They pose a serious threat to the Keep and the Chantry, Your Grace, let alone the murders that they are committing even as we speak.”

Caitlyn suppressed a furious swear. “What is being done to fight them?”

“We learned of it only ten minutes ago, Your Grace, when young Serah Dupres-Trevelyan—the girl—reached Hightown.”

“The Guard is always ready,” Aveline interjected. “We await your word.”

Caitlyn made her decision immediately. “Get everyone you can in Lowtown and Darktown—except some of the archers,” she said to Aveline. “Stop the killings first and foremost. If they want me, let’s get them in front of the Keep, not killing innocent people who can’t defend themselves.”

“Your Grace,” Aveline objected, falling into formality in front of Thrask, “that could be dangerous.”

“Herd them here, in _one place,”_ Caitlyn said in hard tones, making it clear that this was an order. “We can deal with them. Leave some archers here, manning the balconies and ramparts. Oh—and the vigilantes. They will have a choice as to whether they want to defend the Keep or defend the people. I won’t pressure them either way.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Aveline said, submitting. Without waiting another moment, she and Donnic departed to ready the guards.

Caitlyn turned back to Thrask. “The Templars that you trust,” she began.

“I will get as many of them as I can to go to the Chantry,” he said. “I... wish I could feel comfortable sending them out to defend innocents in the city, but... if Meredith is involved....”

“Get as many innocents to the Chantry as you can, as well. If they run out of room there, take them to the outer Keep.”

Thrask nodded, understanding. “As you bid, Your Grace.”

Leandra had reentered the room, accompanied by Carver and Merrill. “This is terrible!” she exclaimed, looking sick. “Ser Thrask, if you could—if you have but a minute—our maid, our helpless maid Orana—she is in the mansion—and I know it does not really matter, but my poor Malcolm and Bethany’s ashes... by the hearth...”

“I will see your maid safely here,” Thrask said, “and the ashes too.”

“Thank you so much,” she gasped in relief.

As the Templar departed, Caitlyn realized that her friends and relatives were staring fixedly at her. The weight of their collective gaze pressed upon her, and she realized what they likely meant to do.

Carver spoke first. “It won’t stand,” he seethed. “They won’t get away with it.”

“No, they won’t,” Merrill agreed, her fey voice as hard as Caitlyn had ever heard it.

“You need to let us do this, Hawke,” Varric added, seemingly aware of what she was feeling.

Caitlyn could barely stand to hear it. She understood—oh, she understood—but still, it hurt. The old familiar terror of loss rose up like a wave in her. _Who will it be tonight?_ she thought darkly. _My brave, stubborn friends...._

She swallowed and tried to appear strong. “I wish you would stay where it is safe, but I... understand,” she choked, her strength faltering at the end. “Stay together. Protect each other and don’t lose sight of the goal. There are a hundred murdering traitors out there. You can’t defeat them all yourselves. When the Guard reinforcements come, follow the plan.” She hesitated. “And anyone who _does_ want to stay, I swear, _nobody_ will judge you for it.”

Varric, Isabela, Merrill, Carver, and Charade instantly formed a knot. Fenris wavered, but only for a second; in the next, he took his place beside his friends too. “Five years ago it would have felt strange that I am fighting to defend mage sympathizers,” he said to Caitlyn, “but now, I’m just fighting to defend those who support my friends.” Caitlyn managed a weak smile for him.

Anders hesitated for a moment. Mal was awake again, staring silently at his parents and their friends, deeply aware of what was happening and too overwhelmed to know what to say. Anders met his son’s eyes, sighed heavily, and picked up his staff.

“Oh no you don’t,” Varric said. “Don’t even think about it. You stay here with your pregnant wife and young child.”

Caitlyn interjected, though it broke her heart to do so. “No,” she croaked. “Let him do what he is compelled to do, Varric. Time is running short and all of you who intend to fight need to go!”

Anders glanced from Caitlyn to Mal. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, moving close to her and gazing unhappily into her eyes. “But if I _don’t_ go, and anything happened to any of them, I will always wonder if I could have helped... could have saved them....”

She hugged him tightly. “I understand,” she whispered. She heard Mal suppress a cry and a sniffle, then felt his small arms wrap around his father’s waist close to her. “Please be safe and come back to us.”

Anders hugged them both, kissed their cheeks, and gently caressed the large bump around Caitlyn’s abdomen. “I will.”

_Anders kissed and caressed the small spot below her waist, then rose to his feet._

_“Please be safe. Please. I know this must be done, but I’m so scared. Please come back to me.”_

_“I will. I’ll come back to both of you. I promise.”_

The unwanted intrusion of the nine-year-old memory nearly paralyzed Caitlyn with terror as Anders drew away. _It won’t happen that way again,_ she told herself, holding Mal tightly and watching with a somewhat glassy gaze as her friends, her brother, her cousin, and her beloved walked away to fight.

* * *

Anders struggled between his inclination to lead the group and the awareness that he was not the one who was physically strongest. Finally he decided to fall in with the others as Fenris and Carver, who used greatswords, led the charge. “Aveline and the guards will probably stay in Lowtown, for the most part,” he said quietly. “I know my way around Darktown, though—and the old clinic can be a safe location and a reasonably defensible point. There are a lot of stairs nearby. We would have the higher ground.”

Varric considered, nodding in agreement. “Darktown it is, then.”

They descended into the dark structure from the nearest entrance point, which so happened to be the Amell basement. Orana and Thrask passed them on the way out, and Anders noted that the maid was carrying the urn and the leather purse, leaving the Templar free to carry his sword. He was glad. He hoped that nothing happened to the house, but he understood Leandra’s insistence on having these items above all if it did. They passed through the basement into Darktown. This area was strikingly empty.

“No one has used it regularly,” Anders said as he took in the old clinic. “And where are the thugs? Where is _everyone,_ for that matter?”

“Not waiting around to be killed, it would seem,” Fenris said drolly.

A piercing shriek broke the silence, answering the question for them. They exchanged quick glances. Fenris, Isabela, and Carver took off in the direction of the scream, running down a flight of wooden stairs, as the others stopped halfway down, gazes darting around the site for any sign of movement. Anders sucked in his breath hard as he saw a blood-spattered clearing, three pale bodies lying nearby.

Shouts and the clangs of metal against metal sounded from a nearby nook. The three melee fighters had clearly found their target. Varric edged forward, giving himself a better angle. Everyone on the stairs waited for the moment—

Seven angry-faced men in leathers suddenly appeared from around a corner, followed at once by the three friends. Carver was lagging behind, engaged in tight combat with a snarling, especially well-armored man with a sword, but Fenris and Isabela were giving chase. Varric tensed and shot a bolt from his trusty weapon. It struck home. The man reeled, suddenly clutching at his chest as Carver lopped off his head.

 _“Dread Wolf take you!”_ screamed Merrill, casting a foggy cloud at four others, stopping them in their tracks, making them flounder in confusion as Fenris and Isabela turned to the suddenly easy targets. Varric shot more bolts in quick succession at the two who were still coming at the archers and mages, startling them, as Anders and Charade pitched in with lightning bolts and arrows of their own.

It was tiring and bloody, but at last, all seven combatants were down, and the defenders had only a few bleeding scratches. Anders took a deep breath and cast a group healing spell to repair this damage. “This isn’t all,” he said grimly, though that was obvious. He made to head to the nook where the thugs had come from, but Carver shook his head.

“It’s too late,” Carver said grimly. “There’s no one alive there anymore. Let’s move on.”

Anders blanched as they passed by the nook anyway, and he could not help but steal a glimpse—and wished he had not. The thugs had slain an entire family and their mabari. One of the thugs had even left behind a spiteful message on the dog’s fur: _Dogs die like dogs._ They had been targeted because they were Fereldan, or the thugs had assumed so due to the mabari. Like the tree in Lothering years ago with the heads of children, strung up by the darkspawn, he would never be able to unsee this. He felt the spirit of Justice stirring in outrage within him.

 _Not now,_ he told Justice. _Not yet. Just help me for now._

The spirit seemed to agree—for now.

* * *

Caitlyn was trying hard not to let herself be overcome with fear. It would not help anyone. Leandra was standing aside compassionately, waiting to see if her daughter would need her, but not forcibly involving herself. Thrask had delivered the ashes and Orana to the Keep before joining the fray, and she seemed to take comfort in that. Mal was grimly silent, hugging Baldwin and petting Pounce, his eyes closed as if in prayer. Perhaps it was prayer. Caitlyn felt a pang for the fact that it would not give her peace to pray. The Maker had not even intervened to save Andraste, so why would He intervene tonight? She turned aside, staring out the window, before turning then to Orana.

“Orana,” she said quietly, “the girl Thrask brought to the outer Keep. Bring her here, please. She lost her father tonight. She does not need to be alone in a place with guards and vigilantes preparing for battle.”

The elf woman nodded at once in understanding and left for the outer Keep. Caitlyn sat beside Mal as he looked up at her, fear and sadness in his young face. She held him silently until the maid returned with the young girl.

“Your Grace,” the child whispered as she curtsied to Caitlyn. Her face was wet with tears, and she did not look much older than Mal. Trying to put her at ease, Caitlyn patted the seat on her other side, urging the child to sit down.

“I am sorry about what happened to your poor father tonight,” she began. The girl suppressed a hiccup. “Do you want to talk about him? Or yourself? If you don’t, that is _not_ an order,” she added at once. “I just thought that you might want to be away from all the soldiers outside.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the girl said quietly. She took a deep breath and tried to stop her choking sobs, wiping her eyes as she did. “I’m Alison Dupres-Trevelyan and I’m nine.”

“Trevelyan?” Leandra spoke up, her voice gentle. “I don’t suppose.... I know of a family named Trevelyan, and I was wondering if.... Do you have any other relatives? The city must defeat the evil men who killed your poor father, and you will want to mourn him, but is there anyone who would miss you tonight? Who needs to know where you are and that you are safe?”

The child closed her eyes momentarily. “It was always just me and my dad. My mum was a Trevelyan. She died when I was born. Her family... my dad”—she suppressed another sob at the mention of him—“once said he wrote to them about me after that, but they didn’t want to hear from him or me ever again.”

“Why not?” Caitlyn said as Leandra’s eyes widened. This sounded awfully like the previous generation of Amells....

“They sent my mum to the Chantry to become a sister. She left when she met my dad, and her family didn’t like that, he told me. I’ve got an Uncle Max in....” She hesitated, deciding on something in a second, then taking a deep breath for courage. “In Ostwick, at the Circle. I’m... _like him.”_

“You are a mage too?” Caitlyn said.

The girl nodded. “I thought Your Grace would understand.”

“The Trevelyans of Ostwick are a noble family,” Leandra said quietly, “and very, _very_ devout. They always pledge one of their children to the Chantry. I did hear a few years ago that the daughter had eloped with an Orlesian commoner before taking her vows, but no one knew what had happened after.”

“It’s sort of like you,” Caitlyn said, hugging the girl with her free arm. Beside her, Mal stared at Alison, interested in meeting another person his age who was a mage, but aware that she had just lost her father and was very sad. She turned to the girl. “Listen. After we have defeated the evil people, I will make sure that you have someone who can take care of you. Your father must have had friends in town. We’ll find them. And we’ll find a mage who can teach you, since Ostwick does not do what we do here in Kirkwall and wouldn’t allow you to live in that Circle with your Uncle Max.”

“Thank you so much, Your Grace.”

Caitlyn gazed out the window. _A good deed,_ she thought, _but one that should not have been necessary. She should still have her father, who protected her with his life. How many others will die tonight? What other children will lose their parents?_ She could not look at Mal while having that thought—she just could not. Her gaze hardened as her thoughts turned to fear and anger. _All of this because of violent, murderous fanatics. They will face justice for this._

* * *

“You aren’t coming in here!” roared Anders at the approaching mob. They had scoured this part of Darktown and herded everyone still alive into the old clinic, which they had warded and were now defending from the top of the nearest staircase. The mob stood on the lower level, glowering angrily, a few of them daring to venture up the stairs to fight Fenris, Carver, or Isabela. Every now and then an archer’s arrow whizzed past Charade, Varric, or the mages, but nothing was striking. They had the high ground, and they could pick off those who tried to climb the stairs.

But the mob had superiority of numbers. Even though the majority were in Lowtown, fighting the guards, the small, disparate units scattered throughout Darktown had coalesced again, and they numbered easily five dozen together. Anders was furious. _Where did Mettin get such a crowd?_ he thought as he gazed out at them. _These cannot all be Kirkwallers, surely. And where is the bastard himself? In Lowtown, killing children?_

It dawned on him that this part of the mob did not seem to have a leader and that was probably why they were not advancing. At some point, they would figure out that they could storm the stairs en masse, and it would be too much to overcome. _Should we retreat to the mansion and run for Hightown? The house will be overrun if we do... I can lock the exit, but that won’t stop them...._

Thoughts of Caitlyn and Mal filled his head. What did a house matter? If he stayed here, he would die here, along with all the others—and the house would be overrun anyway.

“What are you fools doing?”

The jarring, vaguely echoing voice somehow sounded above the din. Anders craned his neck as a man in red, gold, and black Templar armor emerged from a cranny in Darktown. His helmet covered his face and distorted his voice, but Anders was pretty sure that this was not Mettin. He drew his blade and raised it high. “Don’t you know who that is? Let’s greet the apostate with her husband’s corpse! After them!”

Spoiling for a fight, Justice almost burst out in that moment, but Anders managed to keep him in check. He would fight this Templar once all these people were safe. “Through the cellar!” he exclaimed, yanking the trapdoor open and dismantling the magical barrier in the clinic. Since there was now a Templar who could tear down the barrier, the innocents inside would be slaughtered if the defenders abandoned them. The others covered him, shooting and fighting the approaching mob as Anders urged the civilians through the trapdoor into the Amell basement. Following them up at the end, the archers and Merrill entered the room, then Isabela, leaving Carver and Fenris still fighting off the group at the top of the stairs.

 _I won’t let any of them die, even Fenris, if I can help it._ With a desperate look backward, he allowed the spirit to take over. Justice blazed from his eyes and rippled from his skin. Blue veilfire blazed from behind him as he cast a powerful wave of magic at the mob, stunning them, knocking them backward, and giving him, Carver, and Fenris enough time to escape.

Anders lingered in the cellar for a moment, casting another barrier. The Templar would surely take it down quickly, but he was behind the mob and would have to get to the head of the group to do it, since the space was rather small. This would buy them a little more time. He grimaced as he dashed through the Amell house. He had spent three wonderful years here, and now, he wondered if he would ever see anything inside it again. At least everyone he loved was at the Keep, or soon would arrive there.

They ran up the street of Hightown, sheltering the civilians, until they reached the Keep. The vigilantes were no longer outside at the steps, Anders noted. The guards instantly let the group in as Varric called out that the people were rescued from the insurrectionists. The great doors were closed quickly with a heavy metallic clang. Without waiting another second, Anders headed to the inner Keep to find his family.

* * *

“Your Grace. They have returned.”

With a parting glance to her mother, son, the maid, and the young guest, Caitlyn rose to her feet and went to the door. She flung it open and instantly exhaled in relief when she saw Anders.

“We’re here,” he said, taking her in his arms. “We’re all here. _All_ of us.”

She caressed the feathers on his back. “Oh, thank the Maker,” she breathed. “The Darktown mob is gone, then?”

He grimaced. “Well, uh, actually....”

“Hawke!”

Caitlyn glanced up sharply. Aveline was rushing for her, and unlike Anders, she was covered in blood. She looked very worried—and Caitlyn realized that she had said her surname rather than her title in front of the servant, which she usually did not do. Something was still very wrong.

Aveline caught her breath. “We chased them away from the homes they were attacking, but there is still a massive death toll, we fear. And then a Templar appeared, calling them to order, saying it was ‘time.’ I think it was Mettin. He unfurled a banner... and Hawke, I think he has the weapon that took down Anders’ barrier the day that Selby was killed. Three of the Arcane Guard tried to attack him, but he just....”

“What kind of weapon is it?” she said quickly.

“I couldn’t see. Too far away, and the torchlight... but I saw that red light again. Hawke, they’re coming. We had to retreat. They’re _here,_ Hawke.”

Anders interjected. “Then there are two Templars, because there was one in Darktown who rallied the mob too. We were cornered, Caitlyn. I had to get the survivors and our friends and family out through your mother’s basement. I’m so sorry. They followed—”

“It is a house,” she said stoically. “Everyone I love is here.” She took a deep breath. “This is what we planned, I suppose: Get them here.”

“You need to see their numbers, Hawke,” warned Aveline as they walked down the corridor. “I don’t think Thrask’s estimate was right. There are over two hundred people, probably more. Where that lunatic managed to muster such a force....”

She cursed. “Maker’s breath!”

They passed into the outer Keep, where the group of terrified civilians gathered in a huddle. Shouts sounded through the heavy gates, indicating that, indeed, the mob was gathered outside. Caitlyn caught a glimpse of Cullen Rutherford, Ser Thrask, Ser Agatha, and Ser Keran, who were clustered near a visibly frightened Petrice and a group of people in Chantry regalia, including several mages who had been serving there as Healers. She did not have the time or inclination to talk with them, and a deep anger burned within her at the realization the only Templars in the entire Keep were these four and the few others in their cluster. Meredith Stannard was nowhere in sight.

“Archers!” she called out. Several vigilantes and guards who had bows snapped to attention. “Archers and battlemages! Get to the rooftops and prepare to defend the Keep!”

She clutched her staff as she, Anders, and Aveline ascended a staircase that led to the rooftop. Armored archers stood dutifully atop the ramparts, awaiting orders, while the others she had summoned—and the mages—followed up the steps to take their places. Caitlyn heard a roar, and—making sure she did not get too close—she gazed out into the streets of Hightown.

There were easily two hundred people gathered. A sea of flickering orange torches illuminated the clearing before the Keep. The lights reflected off the many raised blades in the crowd, showing the blood of Kirkwall in gruesome detail even from this height. At the head of the group stood two Templars in black armor, not the usual armor, and just behind them, someone held a strange banner high. It depicted the Sword of Mercy that was the symbol of the order, but there was no silver, blue, or white. The sword was pitch black against a blood-red field.

“The apostate who stole this Keep is no true Viscountess! We demand that you surrender the entire apostate family!”

Aveline stiffened at the demand, directed not at the rooftops specifically, but at anyone in the Keep who could hear. It had come from one of the Templars.

“Surrender them, and we will spare the others’ lives—if they go back where they belong!”

At this, people in the mob began to chant. _“Send them back to Dog Land! Send them back! Send them back!”_

Anders breathed heavily, clearly trying to keep Justice from bursting out in front of all the archers. Caitlyn was frozen in fury and disbelief.

“Your Grace?” Aveline said.

_“Kill the apostates!”_

It was unclear whether one of the Templars said this, but once it was out, the mob instantly took it up, turning it into a chant that replaced the previous one. _“Kill the apostates! Kill the apostates! Kill the apostates!”_ They began to stamp their feet. It grew to a menacing, pounding roar, heated and bloodthirsty, drowning out everything else except the rush of blood in Caitlyn’s own ears as the world seemed to close in around her....

She blinked, clearing her thoughts. “Kill them all, every last one of them. If they throw down their weapons, shoot them anyway.”

Aveline and Anders stared at her. “Your Grace?” Aveline said, stunned.

Caitlyn breathed heavily and turned to face them. Her eyes were wide and angry as she gestured toward the mob. “You heard me, and you hear them!” Tiny flames darted from her fists into the air. “What else can we do? If we let _any_ of them escape, they will be a threat again! We saw with the clinic bombing that it only takes _one_ to cause carnage! There are too many to put in jail indefinitely, and if we don’t kill them now, we’ll have to hang them as the murderers and traitors they are anyway!”

Anders was shocked, but in a moment, he accepted her reasoning and nodded in understanding and stark resignation.

“This is a battle against murdering, armed insurrectionists,” Caitlyn said. “We _put them down.”_ She clenched her teeth.

Aveline still looked upset; she had fought in combat all her adult life and had even performed executions, but she had never had to direct anything like this before. However, when Caitlyn laid it out as she had, she could see her friend’s reasoning. She turned to the archers and battlemages. “You heard your Viscountess’s order!” she cried. “Attack!”

The sound of bowstrings snapping and crossbow mechanisms clicking filled the air. Arrows rained down upon the insurrectionists in a whoosh. The battlemages readied their staves and began to send volleys of magic at the mob. The aggressive, bloodthirsty chant quickly changed to screams of terror. Caitlyn stood silently for a moment, the rush of fury and dark resolution briefly giving way to guilt at what she had just had to order done. Turning aside, she headed back to the stairs that led to the interior of the Keep, Anders following quietly behind her.

“Are you all right?” he asked her, catching up with her as he also caught his breath.

She nodded as she pushed the door to the outer Keep open. “That was necessary—but that does not mean that it was easy. And....” She took a breath. “I need to....” She trailed off, unsure what she was trying to say. Her thoughts were a bit of a jumble. _I had no choice—no viable choice—but something about that still bothers me, and it is not exactly that it means two hundred more deaths. What is it?_

“Darling?”

She paused at the entrance to the Keep, giving him time to hold her hand privately where no one could see it. “It was necessary and it was just,” he said quietly. “Justice is not often joyful. It is much more likely to be grim.”

“You’re right,” she realized.

He released her and readied his staff. “One of those Templars is Mettin. I have to fight him myself.”

Her eyes popped wide. _“What?”_

Before he could reply, the shouts outside became louder, and they heard a voice from the rooftop they had just left: Aveline’s. “They’re trying to flee!”

Caitlyn resolved on what she would have to do even before Aveline burst onto the stone stairs. “Your Grace—” the Guard-Captain began.

“I know,” Caitlyn said, cutting her off. She slammed the tip of her staff on the stone, creating a magical wave that got everyone’s attention, and descended the steps quickly as she called out. “Guards! Vigilante fighters for Kirkwall!”

The assembled fighters who used blades rather than bows looked up at her.

“I have given the order to your comrades in arms on the rooftop, and now I give it to you! The enemy is trying to flee, but we won’t let them escape this time! Meet them blade to blade! If they run, chase them down! They are traitors with the blood of your countrymen on their hands, every single one of them! Show them no mercy! Now—open the gates!”

The guards began to pull the heavy gates open as the fighters gathered. Caitlyn and Anders reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped aside to let by some of the battlemages and a few archers from the rooftop, to continue the chase. He turned to her again.

“I have to fight him,” he said gravely. “What I saw in Darktown—Justice will not let it go. And the clinic bombing... Selby’s assassination... this attack on our family....”

“You have done your part,” she exclaimed. _I’m the one who has done nothing myself._

He shook his head. “He and I... disagree. I’m sorry, love. I have to.”

“But....”

“I will come back,” he said resolutely. “I did before, and I will this time.” He gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It was more dangerous before. Now I have an army with me.” A dry smile filled his face as he ruffled her hair.

She stood aside, gaping in dismay and despair as he headed out with the rest of the group of fighters—which included, she observed, Carver and her friends. They were all putting themselves in danger again. _For me,_ she thought. _For the people of Kirkwall, yes, but also for me. And I’ve done nothing._

Her hand found its way to her bump. _I shouldn’t endanger her. I am pregnant and I have another young child as well._

_Anders is my children’s father, and he left to fight._

_I am the Viscountess of Kirkwall._

_We’re under attack because of me, what I believe and what I am, but I have done nothing—except give an order to others to slay two hundred people. I should feel the true weight of what that means. I should carry it out myself._

_If something happens that causes me to lose her, I will never forgive myself._

_I am a mage. I can shield myself. The only serious danger is if one of those Templars targets me and no one is there to help._

_I should feel the weight of what I commanded. I ordered bloody, grim justice; I should carry it out with my own hands and magic._

She gazed through the open doors. The defenders were chasing and fighting the insurrectionists on the streets of Hightown. Battlemages’ spells illuminated the grim scene with unnaturally colored flashes. Fallen torches burned out on the ground, often igniting the fallen bodies. Blood pooled everywhere, which was clear to her eyes even though it was night.

Caitlyn glanced around, her gaze alighting upon a set of black studded leathers made for a man and a heavy double-layered black leather cloak near the guard barracks. She strode to the bench where they rested and gathered them up, pulling them on over her clothing, not caring in the least who saw. The leathers were loose, but fit around her pregnant belly. She lifted the hood of the cloak over her head. Covered in black now, she picked up her staff.

“Your Grace!”

Caitlyn whirled around and faced Aveline. “I’m not going to sit here while other people kill and die for me,” she said. Without another word, ignoring the gasps of the gathered townsfolk and the few armed people who remained behind to protect the Keep, she strode boldly through the gates. She raised her staff and cast a luminous, mint-green glyph shield for herself as soon as she was outside the Keep, then stormed ahead, seeking her friends—and Anders.

The walk was just as grim as she had expected. She at first tried to avoid pools of blood, but as she continued to where the now greatly thinned mob had formerly stood, it became impossible. She hardened her heart against the sound of splashing from her boots and the stench in the air.

Soldiers and vigilantes were fighting insurrectionists dutifully, and the light of a mage’s spell occasionally lit up the scene, but she did not involve herself in a fight just yet. _No distractions. Keep to the goal,_ she told herself.

A vigilante fighter disarmed an insurrectionist, who then fell to his knees, pleading for mercy. With a sneer, the vigilante cut the man’s head off. Blood poured from the stump of his neck as the corpse tumbled to the ground, adding yet more to the veritable lake of red in front of the Keep.

Caitlyn walked on, her black leather cloak swaying heavily around her.

In the distance, close to the exit from Hightown, a sky-blue magic light flashed—and rather than disappearing, as spells often did, it remained. Her heart skipped a beat. Was it Anders? She hurried, making sure not to run so fast that she lost her footing and slipped in the blood. As she reached mostly dry pavement, her boots became sticky.

As she jogged toward the light, she rounded a corner—and found herself facing a group of about three dozen armed people, running away down a dirty alley that led to Lowtown. She instantly guessed the truth— _they were with the mob—_ and in a sudden rush of rage, hurled a fireball at the opposite end, igniting a bin of trash that nearly blocked the exit. The people halted, horrified.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed as they turned around. She breathed heavily.

A man near the head of the group threw down his weapon with a clatter of steel on stone. “Please!” he burst out. Behind him, several others exchanged quick glances and did the same. The sound of nervous breathing seemed to be the only thing in the world at that moment, for Caitlyn and for the crowd.

She lowered her black hood, revealing her vivid red hair. Several of them gasped. “Your Grace!” pleaded another. “We weren’t part of that mob at first! They came to our houses and told us that we could join them tonight or die—”

In an instant, several memories flashed through Caitlyn’s mind: Alison Dupres-Trevelyan, sobbing for her father; Mal, praying with the dog and cat cuddled next to him; the crowd of miserable Darktowners in the Keep; Aveline, covered in blood; Mistress Selby’s body, covered in cloth.

Her voice was corrosive with rage. “And you joined them,” she finished savagely. “They targeted you because they thought you were kind to mages, or supported me, or were Fereldan—and you _joined them!_ You murdered others tonight who were better people than yourselves, and you marched with that mob to the very steps of the Keep to attack me!”

“We were going to die!” cried another. “Please, Your Grace, _please—”_

“Please have mercy! Send us to jail, we know we deserve it, but _please—”_

Caitlyn breathed heavily, too angry to speak. _These people betrayed their city, murdered their countrymen, yet they dare to ask for mercy? Where was the mercy for that girl’s father?_ she thought. _Where was the mercy for the people in the Keep? For the hundreds of others who lost their lives tonight, or the survivors left to mourn? They beg for mercy because they are afraid to die. Where was the mercy for Mal, Anders, and me through all the losses and the fears of death we’ve suffered as a mage family?_

 _I felt that I had to carry out my own order,_ she recalled. _That is why I left the Keep._

She took a deep breath and exhaled, then clenched her staff. Her free hand became heated. When she spoke, her teeth were clenched, and her voice was as dark as the sky above them.

“I have only one thing for you and it is the _opposite_ of mercy.”

Two people in the group gasped as they realized what she meant to do, and they turned to run, to brave the burning trash, but they were too slow. Caitlyn did not throw a fireball. Summoning much more magic than that, in a matter of two seconds, she created a swirling firestorm in the alley that sucked the people trying to escape back into the searing, skin-stripping vortex. Sweat dripped from her face as she drew back, feeling a rush of hot wind too.

Screams of agony tore through the air as they flailed, their clothes turning to ash, their skin blistering and peeling away, their hair catching flame.

She turned aside. Though the screams quickly stopped, the inferno roared away, incinerating everything but metal, stone, and glass.

When the fire ran out of combustible things to fuel itself, it weakened quickly, leaving an eerie silence. Caitlyn heard her own heart pounding again and dared to turn around. The alley was a smoking, ash-covered morgue, with three dozen charred, dark brown and black skeletons where there had been people just a minute ago. Caitlyn’s eyes adjusted to the darkness... until she realized that the blue light she had seen before still glowed ahead.

Pushing aside the sudden doubt and vague shame that she felt, she focused on her other task: help her loved ones. That blue light surely meant—

A flash of red light countered the blue, momentarily darkening the location, but the blue flared back immediately. A familiar voice—not Anders’, but one very familiar nonetheless—roared back, _“You cannot dim the light of Justice!”_

The blue light was coming from the end of the street, less than a block away. She realized that Anders and whomever he was fighting had just seen what happened. Had they also _heard_ it? She hoped they hadn’t, though she could not admit to herself the reason for that. Another memory passed through her mind: the recent memory of standing in the practice room in the Keep, training dummies before her, as she threw fireballs at them. _My foes, begging me for mercy as I burn them to death._

She forced herself not to think of it. Anders—well, right now, Justice—was in combat with a rogue Templar in black armor, and he might need help. Another Templar lay on the ground. As she reached him, he gazed at her for a fraction of a second, looking utterly horrified— _that I am here, or because of what I just did?_ she wondered.

The Templar raged in terror at the sight of Caitlyn now joining Anders. The one on the ground stirred, surprising her; she had been sure he was dead.

“Run!” the prone Templar rasped. “Save yourself!” He choked up blood and passed out.

The one still standing hesitated for a tenth of a second, then raised his left hand. Glass-like pellets glowing with red light erupted from his armored glove, tearing through Anders’ coat, sending the Healer reeling as the light of Justice faded.

Panic overwhelmed Caitlyn. With Anders down, she was next. _I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have endangered the baby._ In terror, she hurled a volley of ice at the Templar, striking him and momentarily stunning him. The Templar snarled at Caitlyn as he shook himself free, but he did not retaliate even though he could have while she was focused on casting the paltry healing spell that she knew at Anders. Instead, he ran for his life, leaving them behind.

Anders coughed as Caitlyn cast the spell at him. He gazed at her with weary eyes. “You shouldn’t have risked yourself,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “I had to. I’m all right. _She_ is all right.”

He forced a weak smile on his face before fading out again. She cried out and felt for a pulse, relief flowing through her at the comforting thump of his heart. She closed her eyes and clutched his hands, wishing that none of this had happened.

“Caitlyn!”

She opened her eyes and whipped her head around. Carver was running, followed by Merrill and Fenris.

“Is he—”

“He’s alive,” she said, getting to her feet. “He needs healing. And that Templar is a captive. He was one of the leaders. Get him out of that armor. They can do that strange red attack when they are wearing it.”

Carver nodded as Fenris spat at the Templar. As Fenris and Merrill got to work on the Templar, he hefted Anders’ supine form onto his back. “Don’t tell him I did this when he wakes up,” he joked.

“Varric, Isabela, and Charade—”

“Are back in the Keep,” he assured her.

Merrill pried the Templar’s helmet off, revealing a familiar and very unwelcome face. “What a surprise,” she snapped as they gazed down at Mettin.

“He has some questions to answer,” Caitlyn said, “and for what he has done tonight....” She gazed ahead, not even needing to finish the sentence.

As they walked back to the Keep, she gazed around. The skirmishes were over. The only sounds now were those of cries—the cries of pain of those who had been wounded, or the agony of those who had lost someone.

Caitlyn covered her head with the black leather hood again. _What have I done?_ she thought as she walked back to the Keep. _Is this war at last? And back in that alley.... If someone had threatened Mal, what would I have done? I wouldn’t have joined a mob of mage-killers to save myself. But to save him? To save the baby?_

She pushed these thoughts out of her head. The lights of the Keep were drawing near. As Carver carried Anders inside, and Fenris and Merrill hauled Mettin and his armor in, she walked up the steps, the last to enter.

Carver lifted Anders off his back and set him down as Leandra and Mal rushed down the steps. They cried out in alarm. “He needs healing!” Caitlyn exclaimed at once to calm their fears. “He’s all right!” Mal buried himself in his mother’s arms, whimpering. She held him as if their lives depended on it.

Carver, Fenris, and the others remained in the outer Keep, tending to the wounded and the newly homeless. Caitlyn wavered for a moment before deciding that this was under control and that her place was with Anders and Mal. She turned to Aveline, who seemed to be in charge, and gave her a silent nod, before heading toward the inner Keep.

“Your Grace,” a guard said, hurrying after her. She halted and faced her. “With all due respect,” the woman continued, “your boots... you may not want to walk into your family quarters....”

She looked back and winced. A trail of bloody footprints followed behind her through the outer Keep. It was not the only blood there, but it was the freshest and the reddest. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to block it out. “Of course,” she said, opening them. “Thank you for telling me.”

The guard nodded compassionately and bent down to take off her boots. Even as she stepped out of them, she knew there was no wiping clean her memories or soul of what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My OC Alison’s “Uncle Max” Trevelyan is exactly who you think he is and a certain Tevinter mage will someday be very happy.
> 
> The events of the past two chapters and this one are based on the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in 1572 in France, a horrific conflict between Catholics and Protestant Huguenots in which thousands of (mostly) Protestants were murdered by mobs following the unsolved assassination of a prominent Protestant leader who’d had the king’s ear and retaliatory threats by outraged Protestant radicals. A key difference is that the ruler of Kirkwall put down the mob ruthlessly, rather than giving aid and comfort to (or being complicit with) it as the French crown did.
> 
> As an FYI, I had outlined the events of this chapter months before the penultimate episode of _Game of Thrones_ , but I decided to keep this chapter as I’d originally outlined it even after that aired. That said, the character arc was clear, and this is why I compared Caitlyn to Daenerys earlier, not knowing just _how_ similar that would turn out. It has been my intent to depict her as a reluctant red Hawke, whose natural inclination is confrontational, self-righteous, and hot-tempered; a leader with clear autocratic, even tyrannical, tendencies; but who does not really like this part of herself and wants to succeed without having to do such things. But when she decides that that’s not possible, she embraces her dark/red side, like Anders embraces Vengeance when he decides that there are no other options. Although he’s a _lot_ more Chaotic in alignment than she is, and that difference has been the main source of disagreement between them, they still struggle with the same darkness and understand each other extremely well.


	27. Full of Broken Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again and thank you for sticking with this story, especially after a chapter like the previous one. This one is also heavy, though for different reasons.
> 
> The song is "Hurt" which has been covered by several bands. I like the Nine Inch Nails version, but it's a good song whoever plays it.

Caitlyn led the way to their family rooms as her mother and Carver carried Anders’ unconscious body. Mal hurried to keep up with them. What she wanted more than anything right now was to take off the heavy leathers, which were indelibly associated in her mind with the deadly firestorm she had just unleashed, but she knew that she could not be selfish when Anders needed her, and she also knew that her internal reckoning was inevitable no matter what.

They entered a guest bedroom and lay Anders on the bed. Caitlyn began to pull away his coat to have a look at his wounds.

“Don’t you want us to get a Healer?” Carver asked, furrowing his brow.

“I want to see what the wounds look like first, and if I can heal them myself,” she said quietly. “As for the wound that the escaping Templar gave him, no one would have seen that before anyway.” _Maker curse it all,_ she thought at that. _I ordered the deaths of two hundred people on the basis that they were too dangerous to be allowed to escape—but one of the leaders fled anyway while I was right there! He took advantage of my love and fear for Anders._ She tried to put her sudden fury aside as she pulled away the flaps of his coat and lifted his tunic.

He actually did not have many scratches, and those he did have were mild. There were about a dozen dark red pellets, like rubies the size of small beads, embedded in his skin, but they had not torn through his flesh and there was no blood. Instead, his chest looked burned around each pellet. Caitlyn reached with bare hands for one, to pick it out with her fingernails—and recoiled at once at the sensation.

Not only was the pellet not moving—it was like it had formed a bond with Anders’ flesh—it was also unpleasant to feel. It was not hot to the touch, but there was something akin to heat, just not in a physical sense. _Anger,_ Caitlyn thought suddenly. _Rage and hate. I feel it. It’s like it calls to me...._

A terrible suspicion suddenly filled her mind as she remembered the one time when she had felt anything like this before: the Deep Roads expedition, in an ancient primeval thaig, surrounded by veins of abnormal red lyrium.

“I need gloves,” she said. “Gloves and....” Anders’ surgical dagger, which he wore on his belt, caught her eye. Grimacing at what she was going to do, but aware that it was necessary, she unsheathed it.

Leandra handed Caitlyn a pair of leather gloves from a wardrobe. With a regretful sigh, she put them on and picked up the knife. A child’s gasp and muffled shriek filled her with guilt. “Mal, you might want to turn away,” she said. “I’m going to have to cut these pellets out of him.”

He gulped and steeled himself. “I know about... operations,” he whispered. “I’ve seen Father do that from time to time.”

“I’m not going to cut deeply, but he might bleed a little,” she admitted.

Mal closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “I can watch.”

 _I have to do this,_ Caitlyn thought, placing the blade against the first pellet. _This vile stuff is trying to attach itself to his body. If it’s what I think it is, that cannot go on. It has to come off immediately. I am not harming him. I’m helping him. This is what healing is. It’s not just bloodless casting. It means drawing blood and causing pain sometimes too... but I have to do it, for him._

She made the first cut, slicing through skin to cut off the red bead that had embedded itself into Anders’ flesh. A tiny trickle of blood formed. Caitlyn winced as she put the pellet into an empty tin pitcher. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Anders, though he was not conscious. “I’m so sorry....” Hating it with every drop of blood that trickled from his wounds, Caitlyn continued. Beside her, Mal stood with surprising stoicism, obviously not enjoying this, but aware that it was helping his father.

Leandra and Carver exchanged a look, then rose to their feet. “We’ll leave you,” Leandra said quietly, pulling the door to the bedroom behind them.

At last Caitlyn picked out the last pellet. Anders’ chest was pockmarked with blood drops and rivulets. She readied the healing spell that she knew—

Blue light suddenly blazed across Anders’ face and his exposed chest. Although his eyes remained closed, the light also gleamed through the thin skin of his eyelids. Caitlyn jumped back as blue veilfire erupted from his chest where the red pellets had been, the place that was now bleeding.

Anders’ eyes popped open, but Justice was still in control, so they were blindingly bright in the dim bedroom. “It is what you think it is,” he said in the spirit’s deep, attenuated voice. “Thank you for removing it. It was hurting us terribly. I will heal Anders now.” With that, he closed his eyes again, though the blue light continued to blaze down his body, healing the bleeding wounds.

Suddenly remembering that they were not alone, Caitlyn turned sharply to Mal, who was gaping at his father as if he had never seen Anders before.

 _Not this,_ she thought miserably. _Hasn’t this night been bad enough? I can’t handle this._ She took a deep, shuddering breath and faced Mal. “It’s all right,” she said. “You have seen this before, haven’t you?”

Mal shook his head hard. “I’ve seen the blue light, but not _that._ You and Father told me it was magic,” he accused.

“It is magic, of a sort,” she said feebly. “Mal....”

The boy looked more frightened than she had seen in a long time. “What is it, really?” he demanded. “I’m old enough to know.”

She closed her eyes. _Yes, you are,_ she thought. She opened them and gazed at him again. “Your father is a Spirit Healer, as you know,” she said. “This is the Spirit of Justice that aids him, that renews him when he is drained.”

Mal folded his arms across his chest, looking very much like Anders, particularly with the resolute, stubborn expression on his face. “I have read about Spirit Healing,” he said. “I’ve never heard of _that_ happening. The spirit used Father’s _mouth_ to speak.” He shivered. “Mother, _please_ tell me.”

Unable to look at him, she glanced aside, wincing. “Mal... this is something for your father to tell you. It’s not my story to tell. It’s his.”

“But he is—”

Before he could finish this objection, the blue crackles and glows faded, and Anders blinked awake, fully himself now. He groaned, rubbing the spot on his chest that bore healing pink skin now, and gazed from Caitlyn to Mal.

“Father,” Mal said at once, “why does your healing spirit do like he does? I thought that they were supposed to stay in the Fade.”

Anders could not suppress his groan of dismay. He collapsed backward on the pillow again, grimacing.

“Mal, let’s give your father some time to recover,” Caitlyn began, but Anders shook his head.

“No,” he croaked. “He wants to know.” He propped himself on his elbows. “Mal... I want you to understand something. This is a _good_ spirit, a First Child of the Maker, not a demon. Remember that—”

But Mal was very intelligent, and he had already worked it out. He backed away, horrified. “He’s _possessing_ you, isn’t he?” the child burst out.

“It’s not like that!” Anders started to object.

“You let him possess you! You and Mother always told me _never_ to listen to things in the Fade—but _you_ did! And you lied that it was just magic!”

“I’m so sorry for lying to you,” Anders said, sounding it. “We didn’t think you were old enough to know. But you are now, so let’s talk about it, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Mal whispered. “You are a Fade spirit. You’re _possessing_ my father! You stole his body—and I’m not talking to you again!” With that, he ran to the door, jerked it open, and dashed down the hall to his room, leaving his parents to their own shock and misery.

Anders began to sob in earnest. “Not again,” he moaned.

She realized that he was thinking of _her_ first reaction to learning about Justice, and guilt filled her at that. “He’ll change his mind,” she said. “He’ll want to talk to you later. He is just shocked now.”

“He said he wasn’t my son,” Anders whispered, gazing at her with hollow eyes. “He isn’t cruel-natured. He didn’t say that to hurt me. It wasn’t a blaze of anger, like you would have. Not that you’re cruel—I didn’t mean that—”

 _Am I not, though?_ she thought, remembering years past in which she _had_ been purposely cruel, and recalling the action she had just now taken tonight. “I know,” she choked out anyway.

Anders suppressed a shuddering breath. “He meant it. He really believes he was talking to—to a _demon—_ or a spirit, at best, rather than his own father.” Anders covered his eyes and choked out another sob. “I’ve lost him now.”

“No,” she objected. “You have to talk with him, to explain the truth to him, and to answer all of his questions with total honesty. Help him to understand, as you did for me. You didn’t lose _me.”_

Anders drew his hands away from his face and looked at her miserably. “Go to him, please,” he said. “I would do it myself, but....”

“Of course you need to rest,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ll talk to him and get him to come back with me.” She opened the door and entered the hallway. As she paced to her son’s bedroom, she reflected on the fact that this latest crisis had temporarily pushed aside her own reckoning. _It’s coming,_ she thought. _And poor Anders will probably get the brunt of it for me too. He doesn’t deserve this, but I can’t resolve it myself. I need him. I need his moral clarity... and I need Justice’s opinion too, ironically enough._

She reached Mal’s door and knocked gently on it. “Mal,” she said, “your father really wishes you would come back to the bedroom. He will answer any question you have and he won’t lie. He just wants to talk to you.”

There was a pause before Mal spoke again. “Come in.”

Caitlyn opened the door, closed it tightly again, and sat down beside him on his bed. “Darling,” she said, “your father bonded with the spirit in 9:31, shortly before he came to Kirkwall. Do you think I would have married him, let him raise you, and decided to have another baby with him if there was nothing there but a spirit controlling his body, rather than Anders, really and truly him?”

Mal was silent for a moment, drawing his knees up beneath his arms, gazing ahead. He looked very small and vulnerable—frightened and betrayed, Caitlyn realized. At last, however, he shook his head faintly. “It’s still inside him, though,” he said in a small voice. “I don’t understand. I thought that if you let a demon inside you, it made you an abomination. Is it different if it’s a spirit?”

“He is the one who can best explain it,” she said, “which is why you should go and talk to him—but this I can tell you. The Spirit of Justice only ‘controls’ his body when it is like you saw tonight, illuminating his eyes and skin. And even then, Anders can tell him to retreat, and yes, this is because it’s a good spirit. You need to talk to him about it, Mal.”

He breathed deeply and rose to his feet. “All right,” he said.

They walked back to the room where Anders was recuperating, small feet pattering after adult ones. Caitlyn opened the door for him, then crept in herself and closed it. She eased into the shadows as Mal sat on the bed next to Anders.

“I’m sorry I said I wasn’t your son,” the child whispered.

“Hey,” Anders said, so much compassion and forgiveness in his face that it shamed Caitlyn to even look at him, “I won’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt my feelings when you said that—because it did—but you said it because you were feeling afraid and hurt, too, didn’t you?” When the boy nodded silently, Anders continued. “Tell me about it, Mal. Tell me exactly what you’re afraid of and ask anything you want. I promise I won’t judge you and will tell you the truth.”

“I... thought that... that once a demon took someone over, the real person was gone. Trapped in their own body while the demon used it. I know yours is a spirit, but... have I ever just talked to my father?”

 _And he goes right to the heart of the matter,_ Anders thought. _Straight to the hardest question of all. I did promise him the truth, though._ Steeling himself, he answered his son’s question. “Justice has always been there,” he admitted. “He is in the background, like a memory that you’re not thinking about at the moment, but when you said something, he may have heard it. Sometimes he retreats to give me more privacy, and to him that is like when you are preoccupied and miss something that happens in front of you—but he is never _gone.”_

“He is always there,” Mal said, almost crying. “Did he _change_ you? Have I ever really known my actual father? Mother said that it was really you... but....”

“It’s me, son. It’s really me. He does influence me about injustices and grave wrongs that need to be set right, and the way that mages are treated is very important to him, so sometimes he pushes me to think about that. Things about justice, since that’s what he is. That’s how he influences me, on the issue of justice. But I influence him too, and in a bigger way.”

“How?” Mal finally managed.

 _Let’s limit this to the good parts,_ Anders thought. “He cares about this family. He doesn’t want anyone to experience injustice or unfairness, of course—it is his nature—but because he is close to _me,_ he wants it most of all for the people I love. Being bonded with me has helped him to grow and become more like us. And do you know what it means that I influence his nature so much?” He forced a smile on his face. “It means that _I,_ Anders, _your father,_ am here. I have _always_ been here, and this is _my_ body. I am in full control except when I look like I guess you saw a little while ago. Even then, he yields. He knows this is my body, and he knows it would be wrong to steal it from me.”

“Then why did he ask to share?” Mal said.

“Oh, son, that is a long and complicated story,” Anders sighed, “but what happened was that he was expelled from the Fade by a demon—an actual demon—and was in danger of being killed. We were already friends by then; we met in the Fade when I was locked away in the Circle, apart from you and your mother, and he was there for me during a very hard time. He saved my life many times... and so when that demon tossed him out of the Fade, I wanted to help him in return. At first I wanted to help him go back home, but....”

“You couldn’t? He was dying?”

Anders nodded. “This was the only way to save him. He didn’t want to possess anyone. He wanted to stay in the Fade... but that was taken from him.”

“How do you know that’s what he wanted?”

“Because good spirits don’t lie. I knew he was a good spirit because the demons I saw in the Fade hated him, and because he had a good aura. And because he is good, because he knew it would be wrong to take my body away from me, he doesn’t do that.” He leaned forward and tentatively embraced Mal, who allowed it, to Anders’ relief. “He enhances my magic when I need him to and heals me when I’m badly hurt. He renews me when my mana is gone but I still urgently need to cast. He did that for me the day that the Knight-Commander hurt your mother, in fact. He renewed my magic and it saved your little sister’s life.”

Mal leaned into Anders’ embrace, still not quite comfortable, but close to it.

“He’s good,” Anders said again, “and that’s how you can be sure that when you talk to me, if I look normal, like you see now—if there’s no Fade-light in my eyes—then you are talking to _me,_ your own dad.”

Mal finally returned the hug, muffling a sniffle.

“Justice does see and hear you when he is paying attention... but spirits see and hear us when we’re in the Fade, you know. And they hear our really ‘loud’ thoughts, the things we feel most strongly about. And always remember this—Justice _never_ considered sharing my body until he was cast out of the Fade and was dying. The good spirits don’t want to leave their home. _Anything_ that comes at you in your dreams, saying honeyed words, seeking to ‘share,’ is a demon. Always.”

The little boy closed his eyes. A single tear trickled from his left eye down his cheek, but he seemed to have accepted his father’s explanation at last.

* * *

When he was finally settled in bed, Caitlyn and Anders piled into the guest bed together. He still did not feel comfortable moving, and she did not want to sleep alone.

“Justice told me that it was ‘what I thought it was,’” she told him as she cuddled against him, caressing his healing wound. “I thought it was that same red lyrium that we found in the Deep Roads, the sort that turned Varric’s brother mad.”

“It was,” Anders replied. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“It means that someone in the Gallows purchased the idol that drove Bartrand mad and then sent for more of it from the cave. And—wasn’t it a woman? Didn’t Bartrand say that? Anders! Do you think—”

“Very likely,” he growled. “She wasn’t at the Keep tonight. She did not release a single Templar or mage except the ones we saw. We had the battlemages and Healers who were already approved to serve.”

“She fought the Qunari,” Caitlyn said. “She did the bare minimum and hardly let anyone else fight, but she did put her own life on the line. She would not even do that for this attack. Of course she would have agreed with what Mettin and his accomplice were leading... but I think she was part of the plans.”

“We knew that she was almost certainly still conspiring with him. Were you able to capture him and the other one? They should have this red lyrium on their persons too.”

Caitlyn grimaced. “We caught him, but the other one got away while I was trying to help you. I hate that... especially since....” She trailed off.

“Since?” He shifted his embrace slightly to look into her eyes.

She took a deep breath. “You were fighting, but... did you see what happ—what _I did_ just before I reached you?”

He paused before he replied. “You cast an inferno in an alley.”

Her heart sank. “You heard it all, didn’t you?” she said defeatedly. “You heard what they said and what I said back.”

“I... heard, yes.”

“Can I talk about it with you?” she said, surprised at how feeble she sounded. “If you don’t want to—if you are drained after the talk with Mal, I understand—but I need to talk about it sometime. And... I will leave, if you don’t want me here tonight because of this....”

Startled, he suddenly pulled her close and stroked her hair. “No,” he said feelingly. “Don’t leave. Tell me about it if you need to.”

She breathed a shaky breath. “I brought the little girl into the Keep... of course, you know that; you saw her when you and the others returned... but I talked to her while you were fighting in Darktown. She is a mage, Anders. Her father was killed because he was a ‘mage sympathizer.’ He _gave his life_ while she was hiding. I thought about her... I thought about us, about all the ways that we have suffered... I thought of the hundreds of Fereldans who came to Kirkwall to escape the Blight and died anyway, most in the first year, of starvation and sickness... or turned to gangs and were killed for that... and now, the people who made it this far, who saw me ascend to the high seat and maybe thought things would be better, like the mages and ‘mage sympathizers’ might have thought things would be better... and they were _slaughtered_ tonight.” Her gaze hardened. “Aveline said that there were over two hundred in that mob. From the amount of blood on the steps of the Keep, I believe it. Now just think about how many people two hundred murderers can kill. It could be a thousand or more. And those people in the alley joined that to save their own skins. That’s also why they begged me for mercy, to save their own skins.”

Anders considered before speaking again. “Justice agreed.”

“Well... you heard my final words to them, I suppose. They wanted mercy and I said I would give them the opposite. Justice is not the opposite of mercy. You know what is.” She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “And even if Justice agreed, _Anders_ may not have. Am I right?”

He hesitated.

“Just tell me. Be honest.”

He gazed unhappily at her. “It... shocked me. I won’t lie. It seemed... dark, I suppose, and I wish you hadn’t had to do it. I wish that none of these things had happened. I wish that we were still innocent and had never killed another person, like we were in Dragon 9:27.” His voice grew husky. “That is gone forever and I mourn it. Maker, I mourn it. I hate knowing what it is like to kill, and I understand how you feel. But... I cannot say that they didn’t deserve it.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and leaned against his chest. “But after that, I thought about it. If I had been one of those people in Lowtown or Darktown, what would I have done? We would have been, you know, if the expedition hadn’t happened. And perhaps the mob would not even have formed if I had not become Viscountess, but Thrask said years ago that Mettin believed he had the right to go after ‘mage sympathizers,’ so it might have happened in some form anyway. What would I have done? I’d like to think that I would have fought them, but would I have? If it had meant that they would have just killed me and then moved on to you and Mal?”

“I don’t believe for one second that you would _ever_ have joined a violent mage-killing mob,” Anders said firmly. “We aren’t always best in close combat, but we are _very_ good at attacking large groups. I would have encased them in a storm and you would have cast that very same inferno. And I think we’d have won. _That_ is what you would have done, love. You wouldn’t have joined that mob and you know it.”

She was relieved for his vote of confidence, and as he spoke these words, she realized that he was right. She wouldn’t have joined the mob. Standing beside him, they would have cast the most lethal, effective mass spells they knew. And yet— “Those people didn’t have magic,” she said. “They might have decided that they stood no chance.”

“They still made the choice to join a mob, murder their neighbors, and threaten the rightful ruler, which would have resulted in Meredith Stannard taking over Kirkwall. That’s what Mettin and his original mob, the ones who truly believed in his ‘cause,’ were aiming for. They wanted to install _her._ And if those cowards that you burned really were mage sympathizers, they would have helped to elevate a ruler who would be horrendous to mages, who has been already. Even if they thought they were protecting others, rather than themselves, their own actions went against that.” He pulled Caitlyn close and caressed the back of her head, murmuring very close to her left ear.

“It hurts,” she said quietly, almost crying again. “It hurts, even if they deserved it. I did that to people who were begging me for mercy, and I can never undo it.” She returned the embrace. “You’ve told me the ‘Justice’ point of view... but I need Anders. I need my Healer. Except that... there is no healing.” She choked up, breaking into ugly sobs of which she was ashamed.

He cradled her tightly. “I can’t say it’s all right, but I understand,” he said softly. “It hurt me too. The first time... when I killed that Templar in Ferelden, the one who became a Warden... I knew he deserved it, and that there was probably no way that he could have walked away that didn’t involve my death and Justice’s, but I also knew I had murdered him and I could never undo that. I felt that I had to make amends for it by serving as a Healer here.”

“I’m... resolved now,” Caitlyn said through tears. “Tomorrow we will have to do an accounting and see just what the death toll was. We’ll have to question Mettin and it will probably implicate Meredith. This could be the start of war, and I will fight for what’s right. But I wish... I wish it hadn’t been me. I wish we were in Ferelden, a farm family, and Father and Bethany were still here, and nobody outside our little village had ever heard of any of us.” Sobs choked from her throat, breaking up her words. “I have been made to lead. I understand that. I’m doing the best I know how. This cause _matters_ to me. But Maker, it hurts. Why does it have to be us?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just held her until the words finally came to him. “Perhaps because we _do_ feel this. It hurts, but that pain is what saves us. We have the strength to do what we must and the weakness to question our actions because we see how bloody awful it is.”

* * *

After a restless sleep, Caitlyn awoke the following morning to terrible memories, anger, fear, and above all, dread. _Happy Satinalia,_ she thought darkly as she got out of bed. _Today we tend to the dead piled high in front of the Keep, send out guards to keep order, and question the prisoner._

She hoped that Anders would continue to rest, but he roused himself when she did, getting to his feet, wobbling a bit, but finding his footing. She raised an eyebrow at that, but he seemed able to walk and was on the mend. Silently he followed her back to their own bedroom.

Caitlyn had intended to wear something in vivid colors and ostentatious style, as was usual on this holiday, but that was unthinkably grotesque now. She took out a loose black tunic and black leathers that had been made for her since she had become pregnant. After putting these clothes on, she glanced at Anders, who was also garbed head to toe in dark shades, including a black coat with charcoal grey feathers. It was fitting. As they entered the hall, they saw Mal waiting quietly for them outside his door. He was also dressed somberly. They paused for a moment as he approached them, hesitating when he reached them. He gazed at Anders for a second before enveloping his father in a hug. Anders closed his eyes and returned the hug, smiling in spite of everything.

Silently they extended their hands side by side, Mal on one side of Caitlyn and Anders on the other. Silently they clasped their hands together, taking comfort in the warmth. Silently, as one, they walked into the outer Keep.

Some of the same people who had been sheltering last night were still there. The civilians from Darktown and Lowtown were mostly sitting on their own clothes and packs, or else were clustered around a rough-hewn table that someone had set up, eating eggs and porridge. A few City Guards, battlemages, Healers, and vigilantes stood guard here and there, but their numbers were not nearly as great as they had been the night before. Carver, Merrill, Fenris, and Isabela milled around near Leandra and the Amells, talking quietly. In one corner stood Aveline, Cullen Rutherford, Alain, Varric, and Thrask.

Caitlyn wanted to stay with Anders and Mal, but she had to see to business. They stood aside with her family and friends. Anders gazed encouragingly at her, which gave her the strength she needed. Taking a deep breath, she first approached Aveline’s group. She had not formally appointed them to oversee the outer Keep this morning, but with the exception of Varric, they all did have some type of military authority already, so she had no objection to it.

“Your Grace,” Aveline said crisply. “We have reports for you.”

“I was going to ask,” Caitlyn agreed. “I noticed that there were not that many guards from _any_ of the forces here. Have they gone to keep the peace?”

“Yes,” Aveline confirmed. “I have sent guards to Lowtown and Darktown to do that. The vigilantes are mostly outside the Keep, standing guard once again.” She hesitated. “I have already told your mother this, but the Amell house in Hightown will... well, it will need repairs before they can safely move back in. It doesn’t appear to have been looted, and certainly wasn’t burned, but the mob did considerable damage to the doors and floor in their rush to pursue Lord Anders and his unit.”

 _Did she think that I was most concerned about the house?_ Caitlyn thought in bewilderment. Frowning, she replied. “I’m glad to hear that, but... with all respect to my mother... my concerns lie elsewhere. What about the dead? The enemy dead as well as all the civilians who were murdered in their homes.”

“The Grand Cleric insisted on going back to the Chantry. She has sent priests out under guard to tend to those who have deceased people in their own homes. There are also bodies in the streets, and I told the guards to remove them and bring them to the Chantry. They’re putting out the word that that’s where people should go if they are missing someone,” she said grimly. “As for the enemy... their bodies have been stacked. They have to be burned too, but they probably should be identified first, if possible.”

“Fine,” Caitlyn said. “But after a certain point, they have to be burned anyway.” Something rather horrible then occurred to her. “Aveline, as I’m sure that Alain and the Templars can confirm, it can weaken the Veil when a large number of people are violently killed in one area. It happens most commonly in battle, in fact.” Cullen, Thrask, and Alain were nodding already. “We don’t want demons to come out and possess these dead. What is being done?”

“I directed several mages to stand guard over the bodies,” Alain said, “and to act immediately if... that happens.”

“If there are any who have special knowledge of the Veil, order them to inspect it and fortify it if it needs it.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I think some of them are apostates—”

“They are,” muttered Cullen.

Caitlyn frowned at him. “I was once an apostate. They’re serving their city as I did. Leave them be while they are helping.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said quietly. “You’re quite right.”

“Speaking of which,” she continued, “did the Knight-Commander ever send anyone? Have we even had a message from the Gallows?”

They all exchanged glowers. “No, Your Grace, we have not,” Cullen replied. “It wasn’t in the area that was attacked, but no one has come out. We could have sent a message of our own, I suppose, but there was so much to do.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” Caitlyn growled. She was not surprised, but she was still angry. “I suppose you know, then, that the captured prisoner who led this attack, _and_ his lieutenant who unfortunately escaped, were Templars. Well, a former Templar, in the case of the prisoner, Mettin. I want to question him before I send any _message_ to the Knight-Commander.”

“Do you... did you see something to indicate that they were....”

“I intend to question him,” Caitlyn repeated icily. She steeled herself to ask the fatal question. “Do we have an estimate of how many were killed?”

It was Varric who spoke. “We don’t have solid numbers yet, but not counting the enemy, at least eight hundred.” His voice was sadder and more defeated than Caitlyn had ever heard from him, and it broke her heart.

Caitlyn closed her eyes. _“Maker,”_ she cursed. Not one person present, not even Cullen and Thrask, thought to frown at her oath.

At last Aveline spoke again. “Mettin is in a cell. Fenris, Merrill, and Warden Carver kept his armor and belongings separate for you to inspect, as Your Grace ordered, and no one else has handled them. They are in a safe.”

Caitlyn had not specifically ordered that, but she nodded anyway. “They may be dangerous to handle. Anders’ wound... well, let’s just say that something about that is the main reason I want to ‘talk’ with Mettin. But first, I want to see his belongings. Take me to this safe.”

* * *

As Aveline and Caitlyn headed toward the Keep jail, she noticed that Anders had broken away from the rest of their family and friends and was talking with a heavily armed blond elf with an inappropriately sardonic expression on his face. She held up her hand, indicating to Aveline to wait for her, and approached Anders.

“Your Grace,” said the elf, falling into an ironic bow.

She glared loftily at him. “It’s Zevran, isn’t it? What is going on here?”

“Your esteemed husband hired me to investigate the people in Mettin’s mob to see if any of them had evidence that the Knight-Commander was part of... certain unfortunate past events. I was merely pointing out that the bodies of my intended marks now lie stacked like cords of wood and asking him if he wished me to loot them for this evidence before they are _burned_ like wood.”

“Oh, for the....” Anders looked angry. “They wouldn’t carry letters with them as they went on their killing spree!”

“What, _precisely,_ was he supposed to investigate?”

“I told him to find out, if he could, whether she knew in advance about the clinic bomber, Selby’s assassination, and if she was conspiring with Mettin.”

“Well, there is no need to investigate the latter now, since we have Mettin himself. And as for the other things, put your work on hold for now, Zevran. After the bodies are identified, we should know if they were living in Kirkwall—or had taken rooms at any of the inns—and then you will know exactly where to look for evidence.” _Besides, if Meredith knew about this attack, that’s far worse than anything else that might turn up,_ she thought.

The assassin nodded, smiling, as he bowed to them. Caitlyn turned to Anders. “I’m going to look at Mettin’s belongings and then question him. You fought him, so if you want to come....”

He glanced at Mal, who was with his grandmother and uncle, and met the boy’s eyes. Mal gave him a shy smile. “Yes,” he said, taking Caitlyn’s hand.

They headed toward the dungeon, where Aveline led them to a side room instead of the cell block. She took out her key ring and placed a thick, heavy key into the lock of a safe, opening the creaky door. Gingerly, since she was the only one wearing gloves, she drew out a crate containing the armor and supplies and spread them on a nearby stone table.

“Oh, it is definitely there,” Anders said at once, glowering. “I feel it.”

Caitlyn did not feel the angry buzz until she moved closer, but once she was almost touching the items, she felt it too. “I removed pellets from Anders’ chest last night and had to have heavy gloves. We should not handle it barehanded.”

Aveline found armored gauntlets for them in a supply cache. As they pulled them on, she explained. “Carver said that he too felt something wrong with the armor, but that the sword seemed normal. There was a lyrium kit too. No one has opened it.”

“I _wonder_ what we’re going to find,” Anders muttered sarcastically. He moved to examine the armor when Caitlyn extended her own gloved hand to block him.

“You were wounded last night,” she objected.

“You are the Viscountess of Kirkwall and you’re pregnant,” he countered. “If anyone shouldn’t be anywhere near it, it’s you.”

“Then we’ll make it quick, but I need to see it.”

Anders cautiously opened the lyrium kit. An angry glower immediately filled his face. “What a surprise,” he sneered.

Caitlyn and Aveline leaned over to look. There was a bottle of lyrium, but instead of the usual blue color—which both the mages and Aveline, whose first husband had been a Templar, knew—it was purplish-magenta.

“Thrask told me about a rumor that Meredith was giving adulterated lyrium to her cronies,” Anders said, still staring at the bottle. “He saw a crate arrive that didn’t come from the usual source. I didn’t think of _red_ lyrium, but....”

“It wasn’t this color in the cave,” Caitlyn said, frowning. “It was pure red, and so were the pellets I removed from you last night. This must be a mixture. Let’s close that kit. It’s... wrong. I can _feel_ it.” She eyed the armor warily. “And I would guess that it is infused into that, somehow, and in a purer form, a form that they can somehow shoot at people while wearing that armor.” She drew away, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the items as she could. “Meredith bought Bartrand’s idol.”

“She bought it, made it into a potion, and decided she wanted more,” Anders agreed. “She must have.”

“Aveline, please bring Cullen and Thrask down here,” Caitlyn said.

“Cullen?” Anders said. “I agree that he is not an enemy, but can we really trust him with something like this?”

“I think we can. He fought with us last night, one of only a dozen or so. And he might have information that Thrask doesn’t, as Knight-Captain.”

“On it, Hawke,” Aveline said.

“Wait,” Caitlyn said as Aveline reached the top of the dungeon stairs. “Aveline, this is the same substance that drove Varric’s brother mad. It needs to be destroyed. There is a metal pitcher in the south guest bedroom that has some pellets of it inside. Bring that down here, please, so we can destroy it all at once.”

Aveline left, leaving the dungeon entrance open for them. While she was gone, Caitlyn took off one gauntlet and touched Anders’ chest. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

He covered her hand with his and held it gently. “I am,” he said. “It didn’t enter my bloodstream, and you got it all. I promise. I feel nothing there now.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“We have to get rid of it,” she said. “We must. And Maker _damn_ it all! Who was that Templar who escaped?”

“Mettin knows.”

“He does,” she agreed darkly, “though I don’t suppose it overly matters. We need to apprehend whoever it is. That is what matters!”

There was nothing to say to that, so he just squeezed her hand and lapsed into silence beside her as they waited.

Aveline returned shortly with the two Templars beside her and the pitcher in hand. She closed the door behind her as Caitlyn ushered them all into the side room again, then pulled out the crate once more and opened the lyrium kit.

The Templars peered over, eyes widening. “Mettin had that?” Cullen said.

“It was confiscated from him, yes,” Caitlyn said. “And everyone here knows that it is the wrong color. Ser Thrask... I understand that you told Anders once that you had heard a rumor that Meredith was giving unauthorized, adulterated lyrium to certain Templars.”

“That was the rumor. I’ve never seen it, though,” he said.

“I haven’t seen anything like that before, either,” agreed Cullen. He reached in his armor for his own kit, which he set on the table and opened. The supply was the proper blue hue. “If she was giving it to others at the Gallows, and Mettin didn’t obtain this himself on the black market, she was limiting it to her own closest cronies.”

“You made a good point,” Caitlyn said. “The Grand Cleric cast him out of the order last year. How long does a lyrium supply for a Templar last?”

“It depends on individual consumption, but not a year,” said Cullen.

Caitlyn emptied the contents of the pitcher onto the table. “This is what it looks like in its pure form. We have... seen this before, in the Deep Roads. It’s terrible. Varric Tethras’s late brother was driven out of his mind by an artifact made of it. He claimed he sold it to a woman, which rules out Mettin as the buyer. Taking everything together, including the rumor that Ser Thrask heard, we think that the Knight-Commander bought it, sought out more, and has been mixing it into regular potions.” She glowered darkly. “And if she has been sending it to Mettin after he was expelled from the order....”

“That could suggest that she was aware of his plans!” exclaimed Cullen.

“You think?” muttered Anders. He sighed. “So neither of you has seen this before?”

“Not until now,” Thrask said. “I wish we had. I wish....”

“She has been very paranoid,” Cullen pointed out, “trusting almost no one except her favorites. She doesn’t even trust me as her Captain.” He breathed heavily, staring at the pellets. “The Seekers need to be told about this.”

 _Leliana has said that she doesn’t know who in the Seekers can be trusted,_ Caitlyn thought unhappily. _She suspects subversion. What can we do?_ Aloud she said, “I will write to my contact who is close to the Divine. Leave this to me. There are covert rebellions going on in the high ranks of the Chantry that none of us are privy to, and we’re not sure who can be trusted—except for this person I know. I know it’s not done this way,” she said when Cullen looked alarmed, “but these are unprecedented times. I must insist that you trust me.”

Cullen’s face suddenly cleared. “Oh, I think I know who you mean,” he said. “I think I met.... Right, then. I understand.”

She instantly decided upon something. “Above all, do not mention red lyrium to any other Templar yet, especially Meredith. If my friend does agree that the Divine should send Seekers to the Gallows to search, we _don’t_ want her to have a heads up.”

“If she knows that we captured Mettin, and she _did_ give that to him, she’ll know anyway,” Anders pointed out.

“Then she doesn’t need to know that we took Mettin alive.” The escaped Templar, the accomplice, entered her thoughts again, and she suppressed an extremely vulgar curse from bursting out. “The other one, though!”

No one said a word. There was nothing to be said.

Caitlyn sighed. “We might as well question Mettin now. Thrask, Cullen, you are free to go.”

The Templars took their leave respectfully, heading up the dungeon steps. Caitlyn sighed and rubbed her forehead.

“Are you all right?” Anders said quietly as they headed down the cell block to the isolated, separate cell where Aveline had locked Mettin. “Did it give you a headache?”

“I have a mild headache. I don’t know if it is from that.”

“Better to stay away from it,” he agreed. “Maker’s blood, this is a nightmare.”

“A thousand dead, counting the enemy, just as we feared... an accomplice on the loose... the likelihood that there are more Templars using this stuff, Templars who have the position to abuse mages... and the Knight-Commander was probably in the middle of all of it. We just can’t prove that yet.”

Aveline rounded a corner, entered a room, lit a torch within, and headed toward the single occupied cell inside this block. Scowling in contempt at the cell door for the prisoner contained within, she took another key from her key ring and turned it in the lock, then pushed the door open. She, Caitlyn, and Anders gaped inside.

_“Fuck!”_

_“Maker damn it!”_

_“Son of a—”_

The dead body of Mettin lay sprawled on the floor. His fingers were locked in a literal death grip around two lethally sharp spikes of red lyrium, which he had plunged into the arteries of his neck. Blood poured down his chest from the wounds, and a smug, defiant last grin was still spread across his face.

Caitlyn whirled on Aveline, utterly furious. “How could you have let him keep those?” she roared. She almost lunged for her friend but managed to restrain herself. Anders was furious and shocked too, but he was ready to physically restrain her if it came to it—not so much for Aveline, but for her own sake, and the sake of the baby.

“I didn’t!” Aveline shouted back, eyes wide. “We took everything from him! He sure as the Void didn’t have _those!”_

“Oh, so where did he get them? Did he have them stuffed up his arse? Did he shit red lyrium?” She was so angry that she did not care how crude this was.

“For all I know, maybe he did! None of us know _what_ that vile stuff can do! I swear to the Maker, Hawke, I took everything from him. There is no way I would have allowed him to keep something like that. You know that!”

Caitlyn breathed heavily, trying to restrain her temper and be reasonable. Anders moved behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder to soothe her. She closed her eyes momentarily, breathing in and out. “No,” she said in a calmer voice, “you wouldn’t have. I... I’m sorry. He must have....”

It sickened her that their valuable prisoner had managed to commit suicide before they could question him, to the point that she almost didn’t want to even look at him. But she forced herself to do so. As she scanned his dead body more closely, she noticed that—in places that were not covered with blood—there were several blotchy red areas, like a rash, surrounding dark red spots that looked vaguely like pox.

“I don’t want to get any closer,” she said, “but is it _growing from his skin?”_

Anders moved ahead instead. He glowered as he reached the bars of the cell. “That’s it, all right,” he said, scowling. “I don’t even have to touch them.”

“Please don’t,” she begged him.

“They are not pockmarks,” Anders confirmed, “nor are they open sores. Well... bloody open sores, at least. That’s red lyrium. It’s in his skin.”

“He grew those spikes from his body,” Caitlyn said, horrified. _“Maker._ We have to find out who else has been taking it, Anders. We have to.” She turned aside, disgusted, furious, and frightened. “I have a letter to write. And after that... we’re going to the Gallows. And I want a _lot_ of protection this time.”

He shuddered, remembering how she had almost miscarried after the Holy Smite. “Templars, guards, and others who will not be affected by the Smite—and standing right behind you, just in case she does it again.”

* * *

Caitlyn wanted to cry again, just sit down and have a good cry, but she knew that she could not. Her city needed her in this dark hour, and she still had work to do. Numbly she retreated to her study and composed a letter to Leliana, which she sent by swift messenger, regretting the fact that she did not have Leliana’s raven nearby. It would arrive in Val Royeaux as soon as it could without that boon, at least.

After grabbing a quick bite to eat, she returned to the outer Keep. Her son, mother, uncle, and Merrill had withdrawn to the family quarters. Isabela and Fenris were ferrying certain items out of the damaged Amell house for them, and Carver and Charade were helping. When she approached Varric to request his support—and that of Aveline, Donnic, and the Templars present—at the Gallows, he agreed at once, especially when she told him about the red lyrium.

“Anything to keep others from suffering like my poor idiot brother’s household did,” he said, taking out a rag and pouring oil on it to clean Bianca’s mechanism.

Caitlyn retrieved the thick black leathers that she had worn the night before. They were still spattered with blood, which nauseated her from the memories it invoked, but there was nothing to be done. Her condition was even more dangerous now than before. Although it was likely that her daughter would survive if born at this date—her expected due date was in the middle of Haring, a month and a half from now—that would not matter if Meredith knocked her _forward_ this time, or directly attacked her pregnancy bump. And she had very good reason to believe that Meredith was using red lyrium now, to boot.

She let Aveline, Donnic, and Cullen walk at the front of their group, protecting her, as they left the Keep. Immediately the reek of blood assaulted her nostrils, and she tried not to focus on the fact that it had seeped into the stone. The stain would probably never entirely go away. The bodies of the enemy dead, the insurrectionists, were piled high to one side, guarded by mages. The bodies of those who had fallen in defense of Kirkwall had already been claimed by their kin or taken to the Chantry, apparently. She mentally closed her eyes to it. _It was horrible, but if I hadn’t ordered it, they would be planning something else now,_ she thought as they headed to the Gallows.

Her rage returned as they ceased walking past blood pools, and by the time they reached the pristine, untouched Gallows, she was ready to erupt and unleash another firestorm. She tried to calm herself as Cullen and Ser Agatha, who had returned from the Chantry where she had been all day, went inside to summon Meredith.

The Knight-Commander bore a haughty, contemptuous expression as she emerged from the old Tevinter prison. “Your Grace,” she spat, clearly loathing the words, or at least the application of the words to a mage.

Caitlyn held her staff threateningly at an angle in front of herself. “I’m not here to bandy words,” she said curtly. “I want to know one thing: Why didn’t you come to our aid last night?”

“What are you insinuating now?” sneered Meredith.

“I’m not insinuating a damned thing,” Caitlyn hissed, utterly unconcerned about swearing in front of Templars, even those allied with her. If they could not handle a little profanity, they were no allies at all. “I’m stating a fact. You sat in the Gallows, not releasing one mage or Templar to come to the city’s aid, while a violent mob of traitorous insurrectionists committed mass murder and then converged in front of the Keep to try to overthrow me!”

“I see Templars with you,” Meredith retorted. “The Knight-Captain himself stands with you. Why do you think that is, mage? I sent them!”

Cullen gaped in disbelief and shock. Turning to Thrask, Agatha, and Keran, who stood beside him, he stepped forward. “You did not!” he exclaimed.

“You call me a liar to my face, Rutherford?”

“Do you really think you sent us?” he said, gaping. “Knight-Commander!”

Angrily, Anders strode forward, staff in hand. “Don’t give her the benefit of a doubt,” he said. “Don’t blame it on lyrium sickness! We all know why she didn’t send anyone.” He pointed a finger accusingly at Meredith. “What did you know in advance?”

Aveline, Donnic, and Caitlyn gaped at him, horrified. “Anders!” Caitlyn exclaimed. She believed as well that Meredith knew, of course, but accusing her like this was not going to accomplish anything—or anything good, at least.

An evil smirk broke across Meredith’s face. “Viscountess Hawke, I think you need to leash your wild dog before you make any more demands of me.”

“Oh, I’m a dog now, am I?” Anders replied hotly, too lost in his own rage to control himself. “Mettin’s thugs said that too about Fereldans! Keep incriminating yourself, why don’t you?”

Caitlyn jerked Anders backward by his arm and strode forward. “We are distraught and furious about what happened last night, and whether you like it or not, your _lack_ of action is suspicious. You did _nothing_ to defend this city while a former Templar, Mettin, who was a known crony of yours, led this mob! I’m suspicious too, and I still haven’t heard an explanation for why you didn’t do anything.”

“You believe the Knight-Captain’s lie, then?”

Cullen strode forward, furious, breathing heavily. “I am not lying,” he said through clenched teeth, “and I will not stand for this. Whether you are saying this on purpose or are truly confused about what you did and did not do—yes, Lord Anders, it’s possible,” he added as Anders glowered again, “I cannot in good conscience serve under you now. I hereby tender my resignation.”

Meredith’s eyes popped, and she looked as if she wanted to draw her sword on Cullen right there. She reached for the hilt, but something made her pause and withdraw her hand. Instead she turned to Thrask, Agatha, and Keran. “Do you stand with him? Or do you stand by your duty as Templars?”

 _Please don’t resign,_ Caitlyn pleaded mentally, staring at each of them. _Please. Stay. We need you there. The mages in there need you. Please don’t._

The Templars exchanged quick, furtive, almost unnoticeable glances, but in that barely perceptible moment, they seemed to come an agreement. Agatha was the first to speak. “I stand by my sacred vows as a Templar,” she said.

“As do I,” Thrask said, pointedly glancing at Caitlyn and Anders to let them know that he did _not_ swear loyalty to Meredith with this.

“And I,” added Keran.

Meredith’s smirk broadened. “Good.” She turned to Caitlyn. “There you have it, Your Grace. Now, if we are finished here?”

 _Let her think she has won,_ Caitlyn thought, seething. _If she believed that a vow to the Templar Order is a vow to her, she’s a fool. Let her be a fool._ “I suppose we are,” she said. _For now._

The four Templars—or, rather, three Templars and one former Templar—huddled and whispered together all the way back to the Keep.

* * *

_One week later._

Caitlyn stood in the outer Keep on the extremely heavily guarded carpeted steps to address the gathered throng. She, Anders, and everyone else standing near her were dressed in black. Anders had worn the color every day since the massacre, and he seemed resigned to always doing so in the future. She wore the diadem of Kirkwall, a grim and heavy symbol of responsibility.

“People of Kirkwall,” she began, “I address you today out of a duty I hoped would never again come, after the attack on our city two years ago.” She gazed out miserably. “A week ago, we planned to celebrate a day of joy and fun, of frivolity and jokes, a day for children. Instead... it was a day of death, blood, and the _tears_ of children.” Her tone hardened at the memories, still fresh. “Eight hundred innocent people of Kirkwall were slain at the hands of two hundred others—two hundred neighbors and relatives.” She took a deep breath. “I will not ask you to believe that this was the Maker’s plan. I will not urge you to seek ‘meaning’ in these atrocities. Some of you may be able to find such comfort, but others cannot, and I will not tell anyone how to grieve or make you ashamed for what you think and feel in this dark moment.”

The crowd murmured among themselves as she paused.

“Two hundred people turned on their city out of hate,” she said, “and not just hate for me—hate for their own neighbors. I will not tell you to forgive this and I certainly will not tell you to forget it. It should never be forgotten. But... I do ask this. I ask that you take the high ground and not retaliate against the innocent. If you know someone who distrusts mages, or those who approve of mages, or those who were born elsewhere, remember that that person did not take part in this slaughter and does not deserve your vengeance. Those who did take part have had to face their Maker for what they did, save for the one who escaped. We do not yet know if there were any other conspirators who knew of this plan or helped plot it, but we are committed to subjecting any such conspirators to the law, and we know that all who actually committed these violent acts—except that one— _have_ been brought to justice.

“It was a violent justice,” she said, feeling a pang for her own very large part in it. “It was hard and terrible, and it may have caused some of your friends—or even some of you gathered here—to question many things. Please, to honor those you lost, to prove to your doubting friends and family, or yourself, that we do hold the higher ground, that we do not shed innocent blood, I ask this of you. Those we lost would have wanted justice, but they would not have wanted us to dishonor them by killing innocents in their names. Let us honor them and remember them in peace.”

 _Peace,_ she thought as she stepped back, turning to the priest to lead a prayer. _There will be little peace to be found soon enough. I beg of you, take every bit that you can and hold onto it. As Anders told me, we do this because we must, but it is bloody awful._


End file.
